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HER  SENATOR 


A  NOVEL 


ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 

AUTHOR  OF 

"MR,  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1898, 

by 
A.  C.   GUNTKR. 

AD.  ritffcta  rwwrved. 


CHAPTER 

M 


PAGB. 

S 

II 


CONTENTS. 

BOOK  I. 

WALL   STREET    IN    1873. 

I.— -The  Word  Under  the  Ocean 

II._«Two  Helpless  Ones," 

III.— The  Shepherd's  Fold,          -         -     25 

IV.— "I  Sold  the  Bible,"       •        .^        37 

BOOK  II. 


CATCHING    A    SENATOR. 

CHAPTER       V.— "I  Will  be  his  Cleopatra,"  -     46 

VI.— A  Night  at  Koster  &  Bial's,  -          63 

"         VII. — "  Beware  of  Alimony,"      -  -     83 

"       VIII. — Burning  Her  Bridges,    -  -          95 

"           IX  — The  Saratoga  Express,       -  -  104 

X.—"  His  Gal!"            -         -  -       116 

"           XI.— Wanted  a  Duenna,     -         *  -  135 


2061723 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  XII.— The  Hop  at  the  Narragansett 

Casino,  ....  146 

11  XIII. — In  the  Shadow  of  the  Gelatine 

Trust, 154 

"       XIV.— The  Ambiguous  Kiss,     -         -       167 

BOOK  III. 

THE   CAMPAIGN    IN    WASHINGTON. 

CHAPTER  XV. — Mrs.  Montressor's  Dinner  Party,  183 

"  XVI.— Prayers  to  the  Devil,  -  -  202 

"  XVIL— The  Second  Tenor  Makes  a  Hit,  213 
"  XVIII.— If  I  Say  "Aye," 

Will  You  Say  Aye?  -  -  223 

"  XIX.— The  Battle  for  the  Man,  -  -  239 
*'  XX— "You  Can't  Ruin  a  United 

States  Senator,"          -        -  253 


HER   SENATOR. 

BOOK  I. 

WALL  STREET  IN  1873. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   WORD    UNDER   THE   OCEAN. 

IT  was  the  second  day  of  April  in  the  Year  of  Our 
Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-three.  The  news- 
boys were  shouting  extras  telling  of  the  loss  of  the 
steamship  Atlantic,  by  which  seven  hundred  passengers 
found  a  grave  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean ;  a  disaster 
that  carried  mourning  into  the  homes  of  thousands — a 
calamity  that  even  at  this  day  has  left  scars  of  remem- 
brance for  lost  ones  on  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved 
them. 

Sitting  in  his  private  office  in  Exchange  Place,  a 
business  man  occupied  by  his  correspondence  of  the 
day,  the  voice  of  the  newsboys  dominating  the  buzz  of 
the  clerks  in  the  outer  office  and  coming  to  his  ears: 
"Wreck  of  the  Atlantic — seven  hundred  passengers  un- 
accounted for!" — muttered  nervously:  "He  cabled 
me  he  would  leave  about  the  2oth,"  then  drooped  his 
head  and  sighed  these  curious  words  :  "  No  SUCH 
LUCK  ! " 


6  HER   SENATOR. 

A  moment  after  Overhand  Guernsey  rang  his  office 
bell  hurriedly,  sent  out  for  an  extra,  and  looking  it 
over  snarled; 

"Pish!  they  don't  telegraph  the  names!  " 

With  that  he  rapidly  wrote  a  cable,  addressed  to 
the  White  Star  Line,  Liverpool,  brief,  pointed,  and 
bearing  life  and  death  in  its  significance : 

"  Did  Arthur  M.  Ellison  and  children  sail  on  the  Atlantic? 
Wire  immediately." 

This  being  dispatched  he  looked  over  in  a  faltering, 
hesitating,  broken-hearted  manner  certain  memoranda 
and  accounts,  and  at  last  placing  them  carefully  away 
in  his  private  safe  and  securely  locking  them  up,  gave  a 
sigh,  apparently  of  relief,  when  they  were  out  of  sight. 

A  moment  after,  a  bright,  cheery  voice  broke  into 
his  meditations. 

"Come  to  lunch,  old  fellow,"  cried  Curtis  Wynans, 
of  the  New  York  Stock  Board.  Then  looking  at  the 
man  before  him  Wynans,  who  was  a  dashing,  sunshiny 
broker,  said:  "Why  are  you  so  silent  and  gloomy, 
Guernsey  ?  "  And  his  eye  catching  the  extra  that  had 
dropped  upon  the  floor,  he  whispered  quietly,  in  a 
hushed  voice:  "  No  friends  on  board,  I  hope  ?  " 

To  this  the  mind  of  the  man  he  questioned  an- 
swered: "No  SUCH  LUCK!"  but  his  tongue  said :  "Yes, 
I'm  afraid — one  of  my  dearest  friends — and  his 
family — Arthur  Ellison — you  know  him  ?  He  left 
New  York  in  '68  to  live  in  France. " 

"A  Wall  Street  man?" 

"No!  but  still  a  lucky  dabbler  in  stocks.  A  man  of 
little  business  capacity,  but  very  fortunate.  He  had  a 
simple  and  blind  faith  in  always  buying  the  market  at 
the  foot  of  a  panic,  and  the  happy  tact  of  always 
selling  when  he  had  a  fair  profit.  You've  heard  of  a 
fool  for  luck?"  added  Guernsey,  almost  bitterly. 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  living exanplc  of  it,"  remarked  Wynans. 


HER  SENATOR.  7 

"I've  sold  the  market  short  when  everybody  said  it 
was  going  up — and  look  at  the  quotations  !  But 
come  to  lunch." 

Together  they  strolled  into  the  street,  but  curiously 
enough  Overhand  Guernsey  did  not  gaze  at  the  quota- 
tions, as  he  passed  through  the  outer  office.  An  act 
of  devotion  to  the  bulletin  board  he  had  not  omitted 
for  years,  which  produced  some  strange  comments 
from  his  clerks. 

"By  Jove!"  remarked  one  of  the  juniors.  "Did 
you  see  that  ?  The  governor  must  be  hit  hard." 

"  By  what — a  woman  or  the  market?" 

"By  neither,"  suggested  the  old  bookkeeper.  "I 
think  he  fears  the  loss  of  a  friend — an  intimate  friend 
of  former  days — on  the  Atlantic. " 

This  stopped  any  laugh;  for  despite  the  rush  of 
business — despite  the  excitement,  latent  or  apparent, 
that  is  always  in  the  air  of  Wall  Street — despite  the 
unanimous  bowing  down  to  the  golden  calf  that  per- 
meates the  region  of  stocks,  bonds,  and  insecurities, 
the  tremendous  loss  of  life  on  the  great  liner  that 
should  have  been  now  at  her  pier  in  New  York  un- 
loading her  passengers,  who  had  already  become 
"things  of  the  past"  in  the  chilling  waves  and  icy 
blasts  of  the  North  Atlantic,  the  recollection  of  faces 
they  would  never  see  again,  the  remembrance  of  voices 
their  ears  would  never  listen  to— cast  its  gloom  even 
over  the  worshippers  in  the  Temple  of  Mammon. 

Two  minutes  after  Guernsey  and  Wynans  were  at 
the  home  of  the  gourmands  of  that  day — Delmonico's 
downtown  restaurant. 

Here  the  news  of  the  great  shipwreck  dominated 
the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks,  the  buzz  of  the  wait- 
ers, and  subdued  the  smiles  produced  by  the  last  bon 
mot  of  Travers  or  Jerome ;  even  subordinating  to  its 
horror,  speculators'  thoughts  pf  the  market,  whic.h 


8  HER   SENATOR. 

was  now  presaging  the  panic  of  1873,  its  quotations 
being  feverish,  with  gold  rising  and  stocks  declining. 

Amid  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks,  the  buzz  of 
conversation,  and  the  hurried  bolting  of  exquisite 
dishes  by  brokers  too  eager  to  note  their  taste  or 
flavor,  Guernsey  and  Wynans  sat  down  to  eat,  though 
the  former  apparently  had  no  appetite,  playing  with 
his  oysters,  but  drinking  feverishly,  and  once  or  twice 
wiping  abstractedly  with  his  napkin  the  clammy  per- 
spiration of  nervous  agitation  from  the  palms  of  his 
unsteady  hands. 

"If  you  can  forget  your  friend  long  enough  to  lis- 
ten to  me,"  whispered  Wynans,  "I  may  put  you  in  the 
line  of  something  good." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  the  other,  shortly. 

"It's  this:  The  Comstock  mining  stocks  are  very 
low  in  California.  You  remember  that  two  years  ago 
Crown  Point  went  up  from  three  dollars  to  three  thou- 
sand dollars  a  share  in  a  year." 

"You  should  have  told  me  that  two  years  ago,  before 
it  rocketed,"  laughed  Guernsey,  nervously. 

"Yes,  but  I've  received  a  letter  from  an  intimate 
friend  of  mine — you  remember  him — Packard,  a  level- 
headed fellow,  who  is  now  out  there  on  a  visit.  He 
tells  me  that  some  day  or  other  he  thinks  there  may 
be  a  chance  for  a  mine  called  the  Consolidated  Virginia, 
that  is  selling  somewhere  between  thirty  and  forty  dol- 
lars a  share.  You  might  make  twenty  points  on  gold 
on  extreme  fluctuations;  but  this  stock  may  go  up  to 
hundreds,  even  thousands  of  dollars  a  share.  Buy  a 
little  and  lock  it  up.  I  have  done  so." 

Here  Guernsey  astonished  his  friend  by  saying:  "I 
will,  if  things  go  right  with  me." 

"Why,  there's  nothing  particular  the  matter,  is 
there,  except  the  loss  of  your  friend  ? " 

"Yes,  that's  it;  I  don't  wish  to  speculate  until  I 


HER   SENATOR.  g 

know  where  he  is.  You'll  excuse  me — I  hear  another 
extra  outside." 

With  that  Guernsey  hurriedly  dropped  his  knife 
and  fork  and  bolted  from  the  restaurant,  leaving  his 
companion  gazing  astonished  after  him  and  cogitating: 
"He's the  first  man  I  ever  knew  that  let  the  death  of 
a  friend  prevent  his  making  money  in  stocks!  What's 
the  matter  with  him,  anyway  ? " 

The  object  of  Wynans's  speculation  intercepted  the 
newsboy,  bought  another  extra,  but,  curiously,  did  not 
dare  to  read  it  on  the  street.  He  was  afraid  the  news 
might  cause  him  to  show  uncontrollable  agitation. 

In  the  security  of  his  private  office  he  opened  the 
paper,  gave  a  shrill,  sudden,  choking  cry,  and,  gasping 
these  astonishing  words:  "By  Heavens!  my  luck  has 
turned  at  last — he's  dead!  '  sank  overcome  into  a 
chair 

To  him  the  bookkeeper,  coming  in  on  some  business 
five  minutes  after,  picked  up  the  paper,  looked  at  it, 
and  reading  in  the  list  of  lost  the  name  of  Arthur  M. 
Ellison,  from  Paris,  glanced  at  the  bowed  head  ot  his 
chief  and  muttered  to  himself:  "Poor  fellow!  The 
blow  is  sudden;  they  were  old,  old  friends!" 

But  ten  minutes  afterward  Guernsey  recovered,  un- 
locked the  door  of  his  private  safe,  and  pulled  out  the 
memoranda  he  had  been  gazing  at  in  despair.  A  mo- 
ment after  carefully  placing  them  in  the  blazing  grate 
of  his  private  office,  he  watched  them  burn,  th^n  gave 
a  great  sigh  of  relief,  called  his  bookkeeper,  and  said: 
"  Look  over  Ellison's  accounts.  Tell  me  if  he  has  any 
balance  left,  or  not.  I  am  afraid  his  poor  children  are 
penniless.  I  see  by  this  paper  that  Arthur  left  them 
behind  him  in  Paris." 

For  the  dead  and  gone  Ellison  had  been  that  fool  of 
a  man  in  business  called  the  "  trusting  man,"  and  had 
left  an  absolute  power  of  attorney  with  his  old  friend. 


10  HER   SENATOR. 

Overhand  Guernsey,  and  Guernsey  had  been  speculat- 
ing. Had  Ellison  returned  alive,  perchance  the  State's 
Prison  might  have  looked  Mr.  Guernsey  in  the  face ; 
for,  compelled  by  the  exigencies  of  the  market,  he  had 
been  robbing  his  friend  in  Paris  right  and  left  for  years. 

Five  minutes  after  Mr.  Guernsey  in  the  privacy  of  a 
Safe  Deposit  vault,  looked  over  a  box  of  papers  marked 
"Arthur  M.  Ellison,"  and  selecting  a  document  in  an 
envelope  indorsed :  "My  Last  Will  and  Testament," 
opened  it,  and  reading  it  over  smiled  and  murmured  to 
himself:  "Arthur  was  trusting  to  the  last.  I  am  his 
sole  executor  and  guardian  of  his  children,  without 
bonds  or  trustees.  This  will  save  inquiries  that  would 
have  been  awkward. "  Then  with  a  sudden  revulsion 
of  feeling  he  added:  "But  I'll  do  the  right  thing  by 
his  children;"  though  he  qualified  it  a  moment  after- 
ward by — "If  the  market  turns!" 

Coming  out  of  the  Safe  Deposit  building,  with  the 
superstition  of  a  gambler  he  suddenly  thought:  "By 
Jove  !  this  has  been  a  lucky  day.  What  was  that 
mining  stock  Wynans  spoke  of?  Oh,  yes,  Con. 
Virginia.  I'll  follow  my  luck." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  he  had  telegraphed  a  San 
Francisco  firm  to  buy  for  him  five  hundred  shares  of 
Consolidated  Virginia. 

That  night  a  cable  message  arrived  in  Paris  addressed 
to  Mademoiselle  Frontain,  No.  24^  Boulevard  Afults- 
herles.  It  announced  the  death  of  Mr.  Ellison,  and 
directed  her  to  bring  forthwith  his  two  children,  to 
whom  she  was  acting  the  part  half  of  nurse,  half  of 
governess,  to  America. 


HER  SENATOR.  II 


CHAPTER   II. 

"TWO    HELPLESS   ONES." 

THREE  weeks  afterwards  a  French  woman  of  honest, 
simple,  bourgeois  face  led  into  the  private  office  of 
Mr.  Overhand  Guernsey  two  beautiful  little  girls 
dressed  in  the  extreme  of  French  fashion,  though  clad 
in  deep  mourning.  Their  arrival  had  been  expected, 
and  a  clerk  had  met  them  at  the  steamer. 

tlZ,fS  Demoiselles  Eve  et  Mathilde  Ellison,  Monsieur 
Guernsey"  said  the  bonne  with  a  salutation  that  indi- 
cated she  was  of  the  peasant  class. 

"Ah,  my  dears,"  remarked  the  executor  and  guar- 
dian, addressing  the  children,  "come  and  give  me  a 
kiss." 

But  the  elder  astonished  him  with  these  words: 
"  Mon  papa  told  me  never  to  kiss  any  gentleman  but 
him ; "  and  the  younger  irritated  him  by  hiding  her 
head  in  her  sister's  dress  and  sobbing:  '•''Papa  !  Oil  e:>t 
papa?  Aujourd'hui,  les  baisers  depapa!  " 

On  this  the  French  woman  broke  in,  saying:  "  La  petite 
does  not  understand,  and  Mademoiselle  Eve  is  very 
difficile;  she  would  kiss  only  her  papa." 

Then  she  went  into  a  dissertation  in  broken  but  volu- 
ble English,  which  she  had  learned  in  the  family  of  the 
American,  to  explain  the  dangers  and  discomforts  of 
the  voyage. 

To  this  Guernsey  listened,  scarcely  heeding  her, 
delighted  that  the  woman  spoke  sufficient  English  to 
avoid  the  necessity  of  an  interpreter,  which  might 
have  been  inconvenient,  for  the  market  had  not  turned, 
and  he  had  been  pondering  for  three  weeks  how  he 
should  fulfill  his  stewardship  to  the  dead  man  who  had 


12  HER   SENATOR. 

trusted  him,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the  only 
thing  to  do  for  the  children  of  Arthur  Ellison  was — the 
best  thing  for  himself;  and  that  was  to  treat  them  as  if 
they  were  paupers  and  had  no  financial  claim  upon 
him  whatsoever. 

"If  I  gave  them  a  little,  some  one  would  say: 
1  Why  does  he  give  at  all  ?  They  must  have  some  claim 
upon  him.'  If  I  made  a  partial  accounting,  it  might 
be  questioned  in  the  courts.  This  is  no  case  for  half 
measures. " 

This  resolve  was  easy  to  carry  out  from  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  the  affair. 

Ellison  had  been  a  cotton  broker  in  New  Orleans 
and  had  married  a  beautiful  Creole  girl  in  that  city. 
Fleeing  from  the  plague  of  yellow  fever,  which  had 
carried  off  all  his  wife's  near  relatives,  he  had  sought 
refuge  in  New  York,  bringing  with  him  his  spouse  and 
his  daughter  Evelyn,  at  that  time  his  only  child. 
Three  years  after,  having  accumulated  a  few  hundred 
thousand  dollars  by  lucky  speculation,  Ellison  had 
decided  to  leave  business  and  pursue  a  life  of  leisure 
in  the  French  capital,  his  temperament  being  more 
that  of  the  artist  than  the  business  man. 

In  Paris,  soon  after  the  birth  of  his  next  child 
Mathilde,  his  wife,  who  had  never  recovered  entirely 
from  the  slight  attack  of  yellow  fever  she  had  con- 
tracted in  New  Orleans,  died. 

Being  a  man  of  sedentary  habits  and  devoted  to  an 
amateur's  pursuit  of  art,  Ellison,  as  far  as  Guernsey 
knew,  had  left  but  one  intimate  friend,  himself,  and 
no  near  relatives.  The  children  were  practically  in 
his  hands.  Any  letters  from  himself  or  documentary 
evidence  of  the  dead  man's  fortune  had,  so  far  as  he 
could  discover,  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  Atlantic  with 
Ellison.  Every  other  paper  was  in  his  (Guernsey's) 
bands.  He  was  free  to  act. 


HER    SENATOR.  1 3 

All  this  he  had  thought  of  often  before,  but  he  ran  it 
over  again  in  his  head  as  the  French  woman  chattered 
through  her  story.  Then  he  turned  to  her  and  said : 
"From  your  words  I  suppose  you  will  not  be  sorry  to 
go  back  to  France  again. " 

"del!  Monsieur  wishes  me  to  return  at  once?" 
replied  the  French  woman,  her  eyes  lighting  up  at  the 
thought  of  Paris. 

"Yes!" 

"With  the  children?" 

"  No,  they  must  remain  here." 

"But  they  love  me.  What  shall  I  do  away  from 
them  in  Paris?  " 

"Get  married!" 

"  Married — without  a  dot?     Monsieur  is  un  farceur" 

"  Not  at  all, "  replied  Guernsey.  Then  he  went  on  to 
explain  to  the  woman  that  her  dead  employer  had  left, 
by  his  will,  the  sum  of  five  thousand  francs  to  her  for 
her  devotion  to  his  family.  "  Though  Monsieur  Ellison 
is,  I  am  afraid,  insolvent,"  he  added. 

"Insolvent!  Man  Dieu!  Then  I  get  nothzing," 
muttered  the  French  woman,  tears  coming  into  her 
eyes.  "  And  I  had  des  espe'rances." 

"You  will  not  be  disappointed.  I  am  prepared  to 
advance  the  money  to  you  and  take  the  chance  of 
obtaining  it  from  his  estate,"  returned  Guernsey 
quietly;  "as  I  think  my  dead  friend  would  have 
wished  at  least  this  provision  in  his  will  carried 
out." 

"  But  Monsieur  always  said  he  was  rich." 

"  JFajrich!  You  understand — ze — ze bourse!  "cried 
the  American,  trying  to  give  a  Gallic  roll  of  the 
eyes  to  emphasize  his  use  of  the  French  word. 

"  Aha,  les  volleurs!"  cried  the  bonne. 

"But  I  have  here  a  ticket  for  you  on  a  steamer 
leaving  for  France  to-day,  also  a  draft  on  Paris,  unless 


14  HER  SENATOR. 

you  would  like  it  in  gold,  for  the  five  thousand  francs," 
continued  the  speculator. 

"  I  would  prefer  it  in  gold.  Cinq  mille  francs.  Que 
de  bonheur!"  said  the  French  woman  eagerly,  her  eyes 
lighting  up;  for  into  her  mind  had  just  flown  the  recol- 
lection oithe  bright  face  of  a  jovial  French  garcon,  a 
waiter,  at  one  of  the  Paris  cafes,  who  she  knew  would 
be  delighted  to  take  her  with  a  five-thousand-franc 
dot  for  his  wife. 

Consequently  within  another  hour,  telling  the 
children  she  was  sure  they  would  be  happy  with 
such  a  generous  gentleman,  and  murmuring  to  herself 
"Quelle  veine!"  Mademoiselle  Marie  Frontain,  escorted 
by  one  of  Mr.  Guernsey's  clerks,  was  en  route  for  a 
steamship  that  left  for  Europe  within  four  hours  after 
her  arrival  in  New  York. 

Almost  as  the  whisk  of  the  bonne's  skirts  depart- 
ing from  the  room  grew  faint  in  his  ears,  Guernsey 
rang  a  bell  and  said  nervously  to  the  clerk  who 
answered  it:  "  Has  any  one  called  to  see  me?  " 

"  Nothing  but  the  routine  office  business,  sir." 

"  Very  well,  when  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mawley  calls, 
show  him  in  to  me  at  once.  I  expect  him." 

Then  the  clerk  having  gone  out,  the  guardian  and 
executor  turned  his  face  toward  his  charges  and 
attempted  in  an  elephantine  manner  to  amuse  them; 
but  the  children  looked  at  him  astonished  and  did  not 
respond  to  his  efforts  at  entertainment;  for  Guernsey 
had  forgotten  how  to  amuse  children,  his  only  child, 
James  Bertram  Guernsey,  was  already  a  youth  of 
twenty-one,  and  being  a  Yale  man,  had  long  since  dis- 
dained all  childish  frivolities. 

' '  I  wish  Jim  were  here, "  thought  the  father.  ' '  He's 
always  a  good  hand  with  the  girls,  and  perhaps  he 
could  come  down  to  children." 

Then  looking  at  the  two  before  him  he  muttered  to 


HER  SENATOR.  15 

himself:  "Good  heavens!  in  a  few  years  they  will  be 
very  beautiful.  If  I  keep  them  by  me,  some  day  some 
young  men  will  ask  them  in  marriage  and  perhaps  sug- 
gest an  accounting.  Mawley  should  be  coming  soon." 

His  jaw  has  set  as  he  thought  this,  for,  with  Mawley's 
arrival,  Guernsey  must  burn  his  bridges  behind  him — 
every  timber  of  them.  After  that  discovery  means 
not  only  the  contempt  of  mankind,  but  probably  the 
prison  of  the  malefactor. 

But  gazing  at  the  girls  his  purpose  became  fixed,  es- 
pecially as  he  noted  the  elder.  Both  were  beautiful — 
very  beautiful.  The  younger,  Mathilde,  was  a  child 
of  four,  with  hazel,  trusting  eyes  and  wavy  chestnut 
hair — eyes  that  had  in  them  a  look  of  expectancy  as 
she  murmured  in  childish  voice,  her  little  mouth  draw- 
ing down  in  baby  pout:  "Papa!  You  told  me,  Eve,  I 
should  see  mon  papa!  Sceur  chMe,  you  said,  aujour 
d'hui,  les  baisers  de papa." 

To  this  the  elder  replied  with  a  manner  and  serious 
ness  that  astonished  the  man  gazing  at  her,  for  she 
was  scarce  ten  years  of  age  :  "  Mignonnettey  ton  papa'' 
— and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes — "will  not  come  to 
you  to-day."  Then  she  turned  and  leading  him  aside 
whispered  to  Guernsey  almost  haughtily:  "Monsieur, 
I  have  been  compelled  to  deceive  my  little  sister.  She 
is  very  dear  to  me.  I  call  her  Mignonnette  and  she 
calls  me  soeur  chMe.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  her 
the  truth.  Papa!  Oh,  mon  papa  /" 

Then  the  girl  turned  away  her  head  and  sobbed  aw- 
ful sobs  for  a  child,  for  they  were  without  tears,  and 
Guernsey  for  one  moment  repented  of  the  cruel  thing 
that  was  in  his  mind  to  do,  for  the  little  maid  was  very 
beautiful  now;  but  yet  more  lovely  in  promise.  Her 
form  was  of  course  childish,  but  gave  presage  of  ex- 
quisite grace.  Her  skin  was  fair  with  that  ivory- 
like  transparency  peculiar  to  the  most  exquiwte 


1 6  HER   SENATOR. 

blonde  beauty ;  her  eyes  were  blue,  not  perchance  the 
trustful  blue,  but  the  brilliant  sapphire.  The  sparkle 
of  a  budding  intellect  gave  them  piquancy,  though  they 
showed  a  mind  that  would  in  time  perhaps  be  too  strong 
for  soft  womanly  beauty,  did  not  her  mobile  features 
varying  with  every  emotion  make  spiritual,  her 
delicate  face — a  face  that  was  saddened  now;  for 
the  girl  had  evidently  suffered  with  a  precocity  be- 
yond her  years  for  the  loss  of  her  dead  father  whose 
body  the  Atlantic  had  taken  to  its  depths  forever. 

But  even  as  Guernsey  repented,  what  the  girl  said 
made  him  not  dare  to  repent.  She  turned  and  spoke 
to  him  in  a  voice  and  manner  beyond  her  years,  whis- 
pering these  words  of  awful  import  to  his  scheme:  "I 
heard  you  tell  Marie  my  father  was  insolvent.  Isn't 
that  the  word  for  being  very  poor?  I  have  forgotten, 
monsieur,  some  of  my  English. " 

"  It  is,  my  pet,"  answered  Guernsey  with  a  choking 
voice,  turning  his  head  away,  but  giving  a  sudden  start 
as  Mademoiselle  Eve  replied : 

"That  is  not  true!  Papa  told  me  he  was  rich;  he 
had  dividends.  He  showed  me  letters  from  you  with 
dividends  !  " 

"Dividends!"  snarled  the  guardian,  "What  does  a 
child  like  you  know  about  dividends  ? "  Then  he  tried 
to  be  facetious,  patting  the  little  one  on  the  head  and 
saying:  "  What  does  Sissy  know  about  dividends  ?  " 

"  I  know  they  are  money,"  answered  the  child  pre- 
cociously, "Money  to  spend — money  to  buy  clothes 
with.  This  dress  was  bought  by  dividends  !  " 

And  looking  at  its  graceful  folds,  the  sombre  crape 
bringing  home  her  loss,  the  little  one  muttered:  "I 
am  dressed  in  black  because  papa  is  dead,"  then  sud- 
denly cried:  "  Papa's  letter — the  one  he  wrote  tome 
from  England!  " 

With  this,  producing  from  the  bosom  ^*  her  gown  a 


HER  SENATOR.  17 

letter,  the  very  handwriting  of  which  sent  a  thrill  of 
horror  through  Guernsey,  who  recognized  the  chiro- 
graphy  of  his  dead  friend,  little  Evelyn  Ellison  read  in 
childish  tones,  with  now  and  then  a  falter  over  some 
word  more  difficult  than  the  rest,  the  following,  that 
told  her  listener  he  must  have  no  mercy  to  her,  to  save 
himself: 
"Mv  DARLING  DAUGHTER: 

Papa  leaves  to-morrow  morning  to  sail  across  the  ocean 
from  you.  He  sends  many  kisses  both  to  you  and  little 
Mathilde.  Give  Mignonette  many  kisses  for  me,  be  good  to  her, 
and  guard  her  as  you  always  have,  like  a  little  mother — for 
God  has  taksn  yours  away.  If  the  chances  of  travel  or  the 
cruel  ocean  should  never  let  papa  see  you  again,  papa  will  still 
know  his  little  daughters  are  provided  for.  His  old  friend 
Mr.  Guernsey  has  in  his  hands  ample  fortune  for  you  belonging 
to  your  loving  father,  who  kisses  you  a  thousand  times  and  will 
telegraph  his  little  daughters  from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
With  many  kisses,  once  more, 

Your  doting  papa, 

ARTHUR  M.  ELLISON. 

P.S. — Keep  this  letter  and  remember  Overhand  Guernsey's 
address,  64  Exchange  Place,  New  York  City." 

"  Read  it  yourself,"  said  the  little  one  holding  the 
letter  trustfully  towards  him.  "  You  are  Mr.  Guern- 
sey; you  know  papa  was  rich." 

"  Was  rich,  my  child,"  said  the  speculator  taking 
the  letter  from  her  hand,  the  characters  of  which 
seemed  to  him  his  condemnation  and  the  end  of  all  his 
scheme.  "Was  rich.  Don't  get  foolish  ideas  into 
your  little  head,"  and  he  patted  the  liitle  girl's  curls  ; 
then  suddenly  tossed  the  paper  into  the  burning  grate. 

With  a  cry  the  child  sprang  forward  trying  to  catch 
it  with  her  delicate  hands;  but  the  flames  driving  her 
from  it,  she  sobbed:  "Papa's  last  words!  What  he 
told  me  to  keep!  All  I  had  to  love  him  by — till  I  see 
him  in  Heaven!"  Then  Hunching  her  little  hands,and 


18  HER   SENATOR. 

darting  flashes  of  fire  from  her  blue  eyes  upon  this 
thief  of  her  birthright  and  destroyer  of  her  father's 
message  of  farewell  she  cried,  "Vous  etes  un  mttchant !  " 
and  stamped  her  little  feet  and  muttered,  "Vilain  ! 
Miserable  !  " 

At  this  moment  a  clerk  announced  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Jonas  Mawley. 

"Aha!  my  dear  Mr.  Guernsey,"  said  a  voice  that 
would  have  been  jovial  had  it  not  been  wheedling,  and  a 
fat-faced,  broad-chested,  well-fed,  unctuous  gentleman 
in  clerical  black  was  shown  in. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Mr.  Guernsey!"  And  in  another 
second  two  flabby  hands  have  seized  the  speculator's 
digits  and  have  cuddled,  petted  and  let  them  go 
caressingly  as  Mawley  runs  on;  "I  was  delighted  to 
get  your  letter.  I  said  to  Mrs.  Mawley,  'This  means  a 
subscription  for  the  Home.'  It  is  from  Guernsey  the 
capitalist;  Guernsey  whose  name  is  great  in  finance, 
but  greater  in  the  church." 

"  I  haven't  been  to  church  for  five  years,"  answered 
the  Wall  street  man  shortly. 

"  No,  but  you'll  subscribe  just  the  same;  and  you'll 
go — I  know  you  mean  to  go  to  church  some  day." 
Here  the  Reverend  Mawley  put  his  hat  upon  the  table, 
seated  himself  coolly  and  continued:  "I  won't  go 
without  a  subscription!  I  know  that's  why  you  seat 
for  me — you  dear  old  capitalist. " 

"What!  during  this  financial  upheaval  ?  " 

"  How  will  the  Home,  how  will  the  orphans  live  ? 
Children  will  eat,  children  must  be  fed,  even  if  there 
are  financial  disturbances!  Ah!  children  here! — come 
darlings — How  I  love  children!" 

With  that,  reaching  out  one  flabby  hand,  the  Rev- 
erend  Jonas,  despite  a  little  cry,  seized  upon  the  petite 
Mathilde  and  sat  her  on  his  lap  giving  her  two  oily 
kisses. 


HER   SENATOR.  19 

"Don't  'ou  do  it — don't  'ou  kiss  me — dose  kisses 
are  papa's !  "  screamed  the  child. 

"I  always  kiss  children,"  guffawed  the  Reverend 
Jonas.  "  It  is  a  part  of  my  ministerial  duties." 

"Mathilde  does  not  like  strangers,"  said  the  elder 
girl  coldly,  and  without  apology  lifted  her  sister  from 
the  reverend  gentleman's  lap.  Then  she  looked  him 
over  and  said  with  the  wondrous  insight  of  childish 
^yes:  "You  don't  look  like  a  minister!  " 

At  which  the  Rev.  Jonas  Mawley  grinned  sardonic- 
ally and  muttered:  "This  ungodly  girl  has  evidently 
been  brought  up  among  people  who  are  not  acquainted 
with  the  church."  But  all  the  same  he  writhed  at  the 
child's  remark,  which  had  struck  very  close  to  his 
flabby  yet  fishy  heart,  for  the  Reverend  Jonas  had 
dubbed  himself  reverend  for  charitable  purposes,  never 
having  been  ordained  by  the  Church  of  God,  though 
possibly  he  might  have  received  his  orders  from  the 
church  of  the  devil.  Charity  and  godliness  did  not 
belong  to  him,  neither  did  the  garb  of  the  Church  nor 
the  right  to  preach  Christ  crucified — all  had  been 
assumed  as  part  of  his  business  as  -philanthropist  and 
head  of  the  Shepherd's  Fold.  Therefore  his  eyes  were 
not  pleasant  as  he  turned  them  upon  Mile.  Evelyn 
Ellison,  who,  being  a  stout-hearted  little  lady,  gave 
the  Rev.  Jonas  a  haughty  flash  in  return — one  that 
would,  perchance,  cost  her  dear  in  the  near  future. 

Into  this  scene  Mr.  Guernsey  cuts,  remarking:  "  Not- 
withstanding I  didn't  send  for  you  with  the  idea  of 
subscribing  to  your  Home,  still,  Mr.  Mawley,  I  wished 
to  see  you  on  a  matter  of  business  which  involves  a 
little  money." 

"Ah!     Money!" 

"  But  only  a  little  money." 

"Oh!" 

Then  taking  him  aside  Guernsey  continued  in  an 


20  HER   SENATOR. 

undertone:  "These  two  children  are  daughters  of  an 
unfortunate  speculator  who  died  a  pauper." 

"They  are  very  well  dressed,"  answered  Mr.  Maw- 
ley,  noting  the  exquisite  garments  that  clothed  the  two 
children.  "  That  crape  is  of  the  richest — four  dollars 
a  yard  if  it's  a  York  shilling.  Those  stockings  are  real 
silk — at  least  three  dollars  a  pair." 

"Yes;  he  was  a  man  who  lived  rich  to  die  poor •,  as  a 
good  many  of  us  do  in  Wall  street.  I  knew  him  at 
one  time  quite  well,"  answered  the  guardian,  "and  as 
no  one  else  can  do  anything  for  them,  and  as  I  can  do 
but  little,  I  have  sent  for  you  in  order  to  put  them  in 
your  Fold. " 

"Aha!  The  Shepherd's  Fold! "  and  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Mawley  gleamed. 

"  I  can  afford  to  pay  you  one  hundred  dollars  a  year 
for  each  one  of  them.  It  is  entirely  a  charity.  Will 
you  take  them  ?"  muttered  the  financier,  his  eyes  upon 
the  floor. 

"Won't  I?"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mawley,  his  face 
lighting  up.  "A  hundred  dollars  a  year  for  each? 
God  bless  your  noble  heart,  you  philanthropist ! " 

Then  had  he  not  turned  away  suddenly  with  perhaps 
a  little  shudder,  for  his  conscience  was  smiting  him, 
hard  and  strong,  Guernsey  might  perchance  have  re- 
ceived a  kiss  of  peace  from  the  Rev.  Jonas. 

"  I  suppose,  of  course,  the  clothes  the  children  have 
on  and  all  their  other  belongings  go  with  them  ? " 
asked  Mawley  eagerly. 

"Certainly." 

"What  have  they  got?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Their  two  trunks  of  clothing  have 
just  come  from  Paris  with  them." 

"Ah!  What  they  wear  is  very  fine.  Too  fine 
altogether  for  my  home.  We  have  a  uniform  there. 
It  is  not  well  for  little  girls  to  think  they  are  rich  when 


HER   SENATOR.  41 

they  are  poor,  and  be  educated  to  the  lusts  of  the  flesh 
and  superfine  raiment,"  remarked  Jonas  meditatively, 
for  at  this  moment  he  was  calculating  how  much  the 
beautiful  French  dresses  of  the  little  girls  would  bring 
in  cash  of  the  United  States,  that  Evelyn's  silk  stock- 
ings and  Paris  boots  could  be  turned  into  dollars,  and 
that  perchance  the  trunks  of  these  children  contained 
a  few  ornaments  even  unto  jewels.  Then  his  eyes 
grew  downcast  as  he  cogitated:  "Undoubtedly 
Guernsey,  who  is  a  sharp  fellow,  has  gathered  in  the 
jewelry.  Perhaps  it  is  the  proceeds  of  this  he  is  giving 
me." 

But  Guernsey  had  not  thought  of  jewelry.  He  was 
not  a  small  thief,  he  would  not  rob  the  children  of  any 
little  knick-knacks  that  might  be  theirs.  He  had  a  soul 
above  such  petty  meannesses. 

He  would  simply  swindle  them  out  of  their  birth- 
right, their  place  in  the  world,  their  chance  of  being 
happy,  yea  perhaps  even  good  women,  but  no  small 
thieving  for  Overhand  Guernsey,  the  director  in  banks 
and  stockholder  in  big  companies. 

Mawley  was  of  different  mould.  He  would  confis- 
cate a  baby's  jewelry  and  its  little  body  likewise. 

"  Then  the  matter  is  arranged,"  muttered  the  exe- 
cutor. Next  ringing,  he  ordered  a  carriage  for  Mr. 
Mawley  and  added :  "  You  will  excuse  me  now,  I  am 
very  busy,"  for  he  wanted  to  get  his  victims  out  of 
his  sight. 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  Reverend  Jonas;  "the 
two  hundred  dollars  in  advance?" 

"Certainly!"  returned  Guernsey,  and  sat  down  to 
write  a  check. 

As  he  did  so,  Mawley  advanced  authoritatively  to 
the  little  girls  and  said:  "  My  pets,  come  with  me!  " 

Something  in  his  eyes  seemed  to  inspire  the  children 
with  distrust.  The  younger  fled  to  the  corner  of  the 


32  HER   SENATOR. 

room  with  a  little  cry,  the  elder  turned  and  said 
haughtily  but  politely:  "I  shall  not  go  with  you, 
Monsieur! " 

' '  This  must  be  cut  short ! "  The  speculator  handed  his 
check  to  Mr.  Mawley  and  remarked  to  the  girls.  "  As 
your  guardian  I  have  placed  you  at  school  with  this 
1  gentleman.  You  must  be  obedient  to  him,  be  good 
children,  learn  your  lessons  and  do  as  he  tells  you." 
Then  he  said  soothingly,  "Evelyn  dear,  here  are 
two  nice  dollar  bills.  Mr.  Mawley  will  take  you 
both  to  lunch.  You  shall  pay  for  some  bonbons  with 
them." 

"Bonbons,"  cried  the  four  year  old.  "Bonbons, 
you  are  a  goo-goo  man!  Evie,  bonbons!" 

Here  to  Guernsey's  embarrassment,  Mademoiselle 
Evie  remarked  haughtily,  "I  need  not  trouble  you, 
Monsieur;  m:,n  cher  papa  left  me  pocket  money  when 
he  kissed  me  adieu,"  and  she  produced  a  handsome 
silver-mounted  monogramed  porte-monnaie.  Mawley's 
gloating  eyes  noted  that  it  was  well  filled  with 
golden  twenty  franc  pieces  as  the  little  lady  added  in 
formal  voice  and  demoiselle  dignity,  "We  will  accom- 
pany you  to  a  restaurant,  Monsieur,  since  Mignonnette 
wants  bonbons,  and  I  am  hungry." 

"  I'll  take  your  two  dollars  for  future  bonbons.  Eh, 
philanthropist?"  laughed  Mawley,  and  with  that  the 
flabby  autocrat  of  "The  Shepherd's  Fold"  departed 
with  his  little  charges,  leaving  Guernsey  alone  with  a 
conscience  that  was  not  altogether  dead  within  him, 
and  produced  almost  immediately,  an  astonishing  sur- 
prise for  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mawley. 

The  office  door  had  scarcely  closed,  the  financier  had 
sunk  into  a  chair  and  clasped  his  head  wearily  with 
his  hands,  when  suddenly  something  seemed  to  arouse 
him  to  instantaneous — tremendous  action. 

Perchance  it  was  a  faint  cry  from  the  little  lady  of 


HER   SENATOR.  23 

the  portc-monnaie,  perchance  it  was  the  scream  of  his 
conscience.  He  sprang  up,  threw  open  his  office  door, 
flew  into  the  hall,  seized  Mawley  by  the  throat  and 
dragged  him  back  into  his  office.  "You  infernal 
scoundrel,"  he  hissed,  "if  I  ever  hear  of  your  laying  a 
hand  upon  one  of  those  children,  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  your  cursed  body!  " 

"I — I  was  only  taking  the  pocket-book  from  Evie 
to  pay  for  the  lunch.  She  is  a  very  obstinate  child," 
stammered  the  astounded  Jonas.  "The  hand  of  chas- 
tisement  " 

"Very  well,  only  don't  forget  what  I  have  said  to 
you.  If  I  ever  hear  of  the  hand  of  chastisement  fall- 
ing upon  these  two  children,  my  hand  shall  fall  upon 
you.  Remember  that!  " 

"I  will  remember,"  said  the  Master  of  The  Shep- 
herd's Fold.  "I  will  remember,  dear  Mr.  Guernsey, 
as  long  as  you  do  not  forget  to  send  me  the  two  hun- 
dred dollars  yearly." 

With  this  he  departed,  and  the  financier,  anxious  to 
get  the  matter  out  of  his  mind,  devoted  himself  to  his 
letters  and  telegrams.  One  of  these  was  from  his 
son  at  college,  and  read : 

"  DEAR  POP  : — Telegraph  me  five  hundred  instantly.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  much  it  costs  to  be  a  Yale  man. 

JIM." 

"My  noble  boy!  "  said  the  father;  "a  rare  harum- 
scarum,  dashing,  boy-will-be-boy  kind  of  a  boy,"  and 
telegraphed  the  money. 

Then  trying  to  keep  other  people's  children  out  of 
his  head  he  busied  himself  in  his  speculations,  but  the 
market  did  not  turn,  and  day  by  day  grew  more  disas- 
trous to  his  fortunes. 

So  in  the  great  panic  of  the  succeeding  Sep- 
tember, among  the  list  of  those  gone  to  the  wall, 
busted,  ruined  by  the  fall  of  Northern  Pacific, 


24  HER   SENATOR. 

Western  Union,  real  estate,  and  everything  else,  whose 
speculative  value  had  been  boomed  upwards  and 
upwards,  higher  and  higher  since  the  end  of  the  war, 
was  the  name  of  Overhand  Guernsey. 

The  only  thing  left  to  him  in  the  world  was  the  five 
hundred  shares  of  Consolidated  Virginia,  that  none  of 
his  creditors  knew  he  owned,  the  stock  being  in  the 
name  of  a  trustee. 

With  these  shares  in  his  possession,  Guernsey  left 
New  York  and  betook  himself  to  the  West;  and  the 
stock  market  being  vivacious  in  California,  wrestled 
with  mining  speculation  in  San  Francisco  until  in  1875 
the  great  boom  in  Consolidated  Virginia  took  place. 

Being  of  a  double  or  nothing  nature,  this  gentleman 
bought  more  stock  in  the  Bonanza  Mines,  and  in  the 
course  of  that  year  found  himself  about  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  the  good. 

Then  having  grown  cautious  in  speculation,  with  a 
portion  of  this  money  he  purchased,  in  one  of  the  terri- 
tories touching  on  the  Rocky  Mountains,  a  large  cattle 
range,  and  located  himself  thereon,  building  a  ranch 
house  and  making  for  himself  a  summer  home. 

During  these  years  Guernsey  had  said  to  himself 
whenever  he  had  thought  about  the  matter,  which  had 
been  seldom:  "If  the  market  turns,  I  will  do  some- 
thing for  the  children." 

One  day  it  suddenly  flashed  upon  him  he  had  for- 
gotten to  send  Mawley  the  stipend  agreed  upon,  and 
chancing  to  be  in  New  York  he  thought  he  would  visit 
The  Shepherd's  Fold  to  see  how  well  the  two  helpless 
ones  had  fared  in  the  grip  of  the  philanthropist. 


HER  SENATOR.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  SHEPHERD'S  FOLD. 

ON  the  same  day  that  Mr.  Overhand  Guernsey's 
conscience  came  into  prominence  once  more  in  regard 
to  the  children  of  the  dead  man  who  had  trusted  him, 
on  the  outskirts  of  rapidly-growing  New  York,  there 
stood  a  two-story  house  in  the  midst  of  a  tumble-down, 
decayed,  yet  spacious,  garden.  Immediately  at  its 
back  ran  a  newly-opened  street  without  sidewalk  or 
paving.  Conspicuously  above  its  entrance  was  in- 
scribed: "The  Shepherd's  Fold." 

Within  it  lived  the  Rev.  Jonas  Mawley  and  his  un- 
happy charges,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  a  great  city, 
whom  he  had  gathered  in  to  enable  him  to  obtain  State 
funds,  and  permit  him  to  put  upon  his  Board  of  Direc- 
tors the  names  of  men  high  in  the  Church,  strong 
in  philanthropy,  and  potent  in  affairs;  but  such  busy 
men  that  no  one  of  them  could  give  personal  attention 
or  supervision  to  the  institution ;  men  who  as  a  com- 
mittee visited  it  once  a  year  pro  forma  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  who  could  not  conceive  of  a  creature  base  enough  to 
use  philanthropy  as  a  profession  by  which  to  fatten  his 
flabby  body  on  food  literally  torn  from  the  despairing 
mouths  of  suffering  yet  helpless  childhood. 

It  was  growing  towards  the  evening  of  this  day,  when 
to  the  sound  of  a  bell  in  a  large  apartment  within  this 
house,  there  marched  in  from  the  school  room  in  pre- 
cise order,  two  by  two — for  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mawley 
was  a  stickler  as  to  school  etiquette — most  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  institution. 

First  the  younger  ones,  some  of  them  scarce  old 
enough  or  strong  enough  to  toddle  in,  then  children  of 


26  HER  SENATOR. 

gradually  increasing  years,  until  the  last  who  entered 
was  a  girl  of  seventeen,  though  her  dress  was  that  of  s. 
child  also,  for  they  all  wore  the  uniform  of  the  institu- 
tion, the  girls  being  in  gowns  of  neutral  color,  cheap 
material  and  a  scant  cut  that  showed  a  large  amount 
of  tissuey  white  stockings  upon  legs  that  grew  gradually 
thinner  according  to  the  length  of  time  their  owner  had 
been  in  the  institution  ;  the  only  robust  pair  belong- 
ing to  a  girl  of  fourteen  who  had  been  just  recruited 
from  the  Bowery  where  morality  was  scarce  but  pro- 
visions at  times  plentiful.  These  white  stockings  ended 
in  feet  shod  in  flimsy  slippers. 

Ranging  themselves  on  the  sides  of  the  long,  bare 
table  without  a  cloth,  each  sat  upon  the  wooden  form 
in  front  of  her  own  plate  and  cup.  The  plate  had  a 
little  piece  of  bread  upon  it,  the  cup  contained  milk 
and  water,  chiefly  water,  as  one  cup  of  condensed  milk 
only  was  used  for  each  meal  in  the  institution.  This 
time,  something  like  twenty  children  clustering  about 
the  board,  twenty  cups  of  lukewarm  water  had  been 
added  to  drown  the  milk.  But  unappetizing  as  this 
fare  was,  their  hungry  stomachs  yearned  for  it,  their 
hungry  eyes  devoured  it,  their  eager  hands  were 
stretched  toward  it.  Every  little  one  wished  that  it 
were  more! 

Suddenly  the  eldest  girl,  with  a  faint  exclamation  of 
horror,  rushed  at  a  toddler  of  five,  crying:  "Sallie, 
don't  dare  to  eat  until  Mr.  Mawley  has  said  grace ! " 
For  the  little  one  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  her  piece 
of  bread  and  was  devouring  it  with  a  hungry,  wolfish 
expression  on  her  pale  yet  pretty  face. 

"  Not  a  mouthful,  please — not  a  mouthful — until  after 
grace !  "  said  the  girl  in  charge  in  an  awe-struck  tone ; 
for  the  Shepherd  was  wont  to  hold  her  responsible  for 
the  shortcomings  in  regard  to  the  discipline  or  deport- 
ment of  the  flock  if  he  was  away;  and  Mr.  Mawley  be- 


HER   SENATOR.  27 

lieved  with  Solomon,  "Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the 
child,"  as  Annie  Graham,  who  was  trying  to  keep 
little  Sallie's  impatient  teeth  from  her  bread,  very  well 
knew  and  understood. 

"Oh,  quit  yer  foolin',  and  let  her  eat  her  grub," 
cried  the  fresh  voice  of  Molly,  the  new  girl,  who  had 
just  been  rescued  from  the  slums  and  plenty  of  the 
Bowery,  and  placed  in  the  famishing  goodness  of  The 
Shepherd's  Fold.  Then,  to  the  dismay  of  the  others, 
this  new  import,  whose  spirit  had  not  yet  been  crushed 
by  hard  fare  and  stern  discipline,  scoffed:  "Here  the 
old  bloke  comes! " 

With  this  a  hush  fell  upon  the  assembly.  Annie 
sprang  quickly  to  her  place,  and  every  eye  was  turned  up- 
on the  entrance,  over  which,  in  hideous  mockery  and  cruel 
sarcasm,  was  placarded  the  motto :  ' '  Feed  my  lambs !  " 

Beneath  this  inscription  came  in  the  Rev.  Jonas 
Mawley,  perchance  a  little  more  plump  and  a  little 
more  oily  than  the  day,  three  years  before,  when  he 
had  taken  into  his  hands  the  two  little  waifs  from 
Paris.  As  he  entered,  his  smooth  voice  said  in  com- 
plaisant tones:  "Restrain  your  appetites,  my  pets, 
until  after  grace." 

Then,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  table,  he  command- 
ed shortly,  with  the  air  of  a  pedagogue:  "  Stand  up!  " 

And  the  children  all  rose  and  recited  in  unison: 
"We  thank  thee,  Heavenly  Father,  for  the  bounteous 
and  luxurious  meal  our  good  guardian,  Dr.  Mawley, 
has  prepared  for  us. " 

With  a  soft  wave  of  the  hand  the  philanthropist 
remarked:  "All  may  partake!"  And  so  they  did — 
like  ravening  wolves,  not  like  little  children. 

"Mattie!"  Mawley's  voice  was  imperative. 

Every  child  awed  by  the  Shepherd's  mighty  tones, 
paused  and  looked  at  him — but  one;  this  one  faltered: 
"My  name  isn't  Mattie;  it's  Mathilde!" 


28  H£R  SENATOR. 

"It's  what  I  chose  to  call  you!"  answered  Mr. 
Mawley,  savagely.  Then  he  continued,  rolling  his 
fishy  orbs  upon  the  little  girl  who  had  not  seated  her- 
self and  was  standing  with  wistful  eyes  and  little  lips 
twisted  with  disappointed  appetite:  "  Mathilde — I 
mean  Mattie,  why  did  you  not  say  grace?  " 

"Because  I  ain't  a  going  to  have  anything  to  eat," 
said  the  child  solemnly,  pointing  to  her  empty  plate 
and  empty  cup. 

"Ha,  ha!  You  have  been  disobedient,  insubordinate. 
You  have  not  learned  your  lessons  well!"  remarked 
the  man  of  grace,  throwing  his  eyes  once  more  upon 
the  youngest  child  of  the  dead  Ellison,  whose  pouting 
mouth  is  now  thin  and  drawn,  and  no  longer  chubby  and 
infantile,  whose  eyes  are  large,  though  there  is  no 
smile  in  them,  and  the  little  figure  which  has  increased 
only  in  height,  has  no  more  the  rounded  outlines  of 
a  well  nurtured  growth — but  is  a  veritable  ghost  of 
childhood 

"My — saeur  chtrie — my  sister!"  murmured  the  little 
one. 

"Your  sister  has  gone  for  medicine  for  the  sick 
child  below: — She  couldn't  fill  your  naughty  stomach 
for  you — could  she,  you  little  pampered  thing!  "  sneered 
Mawley.  Then  he  uttered  in  awful  tone:  "Stop 
whimpering!"  for  Mathilde  has  sent  into  the  air  a 
faint  wail. 

Next,  perchance  to  get  the  child's  pleading  eyes 
from  looking  into  his,  the  shepherd  picked  her  up, 
gave  her  a  savage  shake  and  stood  her  in  a  corner. 

Then  turning,  he  said :  "Annie !  "  and  as  the  oldest 
of  the  flock  approached  him,  a  wary  readiness  in  her 
demeanor  to  dodge  any  swinging  slap  that  might  come 
upon  her  unawares,  remarked:  "I  leave  you  in  charge. 
Be  careful!  You  know  me.  I  can  be  severe  as  well 
as  kind.  Mattie  is  to  eat  nothing  /  I  expect  the  Com- 


HER   SENATOR.  20 

mittee  this  afternoon  to  make  an  inspection.  Let  all 
the  children  finish  their  supper  quickly.  I  don't  wish 
the  Committee  to  see  them  eat." 

With  this,  motioning  Annie  to  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  the  Rev.  Jonas  Mawley,  attracted  by  the 
pleasant  odors  of  a  bounteous  supper  that  awaits  him 
below,  departs  from  the  room,  and  restraint  goes  with 
him.  Mollie,  the  waif  from  the  Bowery,  cries  sar- 
donically: "Yes,  if  the  Committee  saw  this  starve, 
it  would  be  a  give-away!  Why,  a  Baxter  Street  all- 
night  house  would  turn  up  its  nose  at  such  a  meal 
as  this." 

"Silence,  Mollie,"  says  Annie  pathetically.  Then 
she  utters  sneeringly:  "Remember,  you  are  but  two 
days  out  of  the  gutter!"  For  even  in  this  home  of 
misery,  the  jealousy  and  pride  of  petty  humanity  had 
not  been  altogether  starved  out  of  it.  These  vices  can 
subsist  upon  the  smallest  rations. 

"And  you  bet  I'm  going  back  to  the  gutter  again  the 
first  chance  I  get,"  answered  the  recalcitrant  Mollie. 

Upon  this  the  shrill  voice  of  the  little  tot  Sallie 
comes  in  baby  tones  pleadingly:  "  My  bread's  all  gone 
and  I'm  so  hungry  yet." 

To  which  the  tough  creature  from  the  Bowery  re- 
marks: "So's  mine,  and  I'm  empty  as  a  dance-house 
after  it's  been  pulled."  Then  she  goes  on  in  a  voice  of 
such  stridency  that  it  makes  Annie  shudder:  "  They 
call  this  the  infant's  home,"  and  cries  out  these  hideous 
words,  "Say!  Has  any  more  infants  died  since  last 
night  ?" 

"Hush,  Mollie,  be  careful — Mr.  Mawley "gasps 

the  affrighted  one  in  charge. 

But  here  a  voice  comes  to  them  that  makes  Annie 
and  all  the  rest  start.  It  is  from  little  Mathilde,  who 
falters,  turning  eyes  big  with  suffering  upon  them: 
"Something  to  eat— to  keep  me  from  dying!" 


3«  HER   SENATOR. 

Even  in  its  misery,  even  in  its  hunger,  even  despite 
its  dread  of  Mawley,  childhood,  generous  childhood, 
would  give  her  from  its  insufficiency. 

"I  tarn't — I've  bolted  mine,"  sobs  little  Sallie. 

"And  I've  bolted  mine,  too;  but  here's  Annie's," 
cries  the  Bowery  importation,  seizing  the  elder  girl  s 
morsel. 

But  before  Mollie  can  be  generous  with  Annie's  food, 
there  is  a  whisk  of  short  calico  skirts  and  a  child  of 
strangely  tragic  demeanor,  with  flashing  eyes  and  burn, 
ing  cheeks  comes  running  in  and  whispers:  "  My  sister 
— Mathilde — for  you,  Mignonnette  ! — for  you  /"  And 
Mathilde  is  in  the  land  of  plenty. 

"Why — it's — it's — cakeV  she  cries,  her  brown  eyes 
big  with  astonishment,  as  she  crunches  her  white  teeth 
greedily  upon  what  has  been  given  her.  "Oh,  my! — 
sceur  chtric — you  have  brought  me — pie\"  she  murmurs, 
and  bolts  another  piece. 

"Great  Five  Points!"  screams  the  Bowery  girl,  "  if 
French  Eva  isn't  giving  her  sister  sweet  things.  Where 
did  you  get  'em  ?  Did  you  hook  'em  when  you  went 
out  for  the  medicine  ?  Oh,  Ginger!  there's  enough  to 
go  round!" 

"There's  only  enough  for  the  little  ones,"  answers 
Evelyn  Ellison.  "Vicns  t'ci,  pauvre  Sally."  And  the 
girl  calls  the  blue-eyed  waif  to  her  and  gives  her  pie 
also,  as  well  as  some  endearing  Paris  phrases,  the  use 
of  which  has  gained  for  her  the  soubriquet  by  which 
Mollie  of  the  Bowery  has  addressed  her. 

This  nick-name  is  not  without  reason ;  for  Evelyn's 
manner  has  still  some  of  the  Gallic  grace  the  little 
maid  had  brought  with  her  from  Paris.  Clad  though 
she  is  in  cheap  calico,  its  short  skirts  giving  her  an  ap- 
parent ungainly  length  of  limb,  there  is  a  certain  dain- 
tiness about  her.  Her  dress  has  no  spot  or  stain  upon 
it,  her  stockings  white,  after  t'-s  fashion  of  that  day  are 


«ER   SENATOR.  31 

like  snow,  her  hair  long,  waving  and  sunny,  floats  about 
her  like  a  halo  of  gold,  confined  by  a  little  blue  ribbon 
— God  knows  how  she  got  it!  Above  all  this  the  girl 
has  an  air  of  distinction,  perchance  even  a  certain 
amount  oichic  about  her,  notwithstanding  her  surround- 
ings have  brought  upon  her  face  precocity  and  unnat- 
ural sadness.  Her  great  blue  eyes  have  those  same 
perpetual  welling  tears  behind  them  that  have  made 
the  picture  of  Beatrice  Cenci  immortal,  in  its  unearthly 
yet  sublimely  beautiful  despair.  Her  poses,  though 
crude,  give  promise  of  a  growing  grace  that  even  the 
privations  of  these  last  years  have  not  effaced;  but 
each  of  them  is  dominated  by  an  astonishing  self-com- 
mand, one  born  of  constant  self-repression,  for  this 
girl's  life  for  years  has  been  one  continual  struggle 
to  take  sorrow  from  off  her  little  sister — unto  herself. 

Even  as  she  speaks  the  last  words,  her  French 
vivacity  of  movement  comes  to  her,  for  Evelyn  is  com- 
pelled to  defend  the  two  little  ones  from  the  hands  of 
older  children  seeking  to  seize  their  morsels  of  tempt- 
ing food — food  that  has  sweetness  in  it — food  that 
makes  the  mouths  of  Mawley's  half-starved  proteges 
water  with  longing. 

"There  is  no  more!  "  Eve  says  at  last.  "You  are 
hungry — I  am  hungry,  we  are  all  hungry,  but  it  was 
for  Mignonnette,  my  sister  and  la  petite  Sal  lie.  That's 
why  1  did  /'//" 

"  Did  what  ? "  gasps  Annie,  fearing  the  delinquency 
of  the  other  may  fall  upon  her. 

"Never  you  mind  what, — I  DID  IT!"  answers  the 
girl.  Then  she  murmers:  "del!  J'aifaim.  Have  you 
no  bread  and  milk  for  me?" 

"  No,  I — I  ate  yours,"  says  Annie  falteringly. 

With  this  the  girl  puts  her  hands  up  to  her  pale  face 
and  mutters  a  subdued  " Miserable !  how  could  you! — 
when — when  I  have  had  nothing  ? "  Waning  against 


3*  HER   SENATOR. 

the   table    weak    from    hunger   and    disappointment 

"Why  I — I  supposed  of  course  you  had  filled  your 
own  stomach  with  pie  and  cake  before  you  brought  it 
to  any  one  else  ?"  stammers  Annie. 

"  You  would!  "  answers  the  other. 

But  here  she  utters  a  scream  of  amazement,  for 
Bowery  Mollie  with  a  sudden  howl  of  rage  has  cried : 
"You  nasty  thieving  glutton!"  and  has  fallen  upon 
Annie  hand  and  foot.  And  the  two  girls  combat  with 
one  another,  Annie  after  the  feminine  manner,  with 
teeth  and  nails,  and  the  other  after  the  more  scientific 
pugilistic  methods  she  has  seen  in  vogue  at  surrepti- 
tious visits  to  The.  Allen's  and  Harry  Hill's. 

Being  less  famished  as  well  as  more  scientific,  Mollie 
is  getting  the  best  of  it,  when  into  the  scene  strides 
Mawley,  an  awful  look  in  his  eye. 

"What  is  this?  Fighting!  Unchristian  conduct!" 
he  ejaculates,  and  boxes  Annie  and  Mollie  around  the 
room  to  their  places;  then  commands  sternly,  "  Come 
to  position ! " 

At  his  word,  the  children  scramble  to  their  places  at 
the  table — all  save  Evelyn,  who  stands  apart  holding 
her  sister's  hand,  as  the  philanthropist,  in  severe  voice, 
remarks  philosophically:  "This  insubordination  alj 
comes  from  over-eating.  It  makes  you  bilious,  and 
biliousness  is  the  root  of  all  evil.  Half  rations  for  the 
rest  of  the  week!" 

This  speech  is  effective — hellishly  effective! 

A  sigh  that  is  half  moan  comes  to  him  from  the 
helpless  ones  standing  around  the  table.  And  Annie, 
who  had  been  made  a  sycophant  and  coward  through 
years  of  continued  repression,  bursts  forth :  "  It  wasn't 
us,  sir!  It  was  Mattie  and  French  Eva!  " 

"Aha,  Mattie!"  remarks  the  Shepherd,  and  turns 
fishy  eyes  upon  the  little  girl.  "  Mattie,  the  naughty 
gourmand,  the  sulky  child!  "  Then  suddenly  he  gives 


HER  SENATOR.  33 

a  start  of  horror  and  ejaculates:  "  God  bless  my  soul! 
Mattie  looks  fatter  ;  "  next  throwing  investigating  eyes 
upon  the  floor,  cries  out:  "  Crumbs!  You  have  been 
eating!"  As  if  this  was  the  most  horrible  crime  in 
childhood's  decalogue. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  'deed  I  couldn't,  sir!  "  shudders 
Annie,  who  fears  she  has  brought  condemnation  upon 
herself. 

But  at  this  moment  a  matron,  who  would  be  comely 
were  she  not  severe  in  expression,  enters  the  room.  It 
is  Mrs.  Patience  Mawley,  the  wife  of  the  Shepherd, 
who  remarks  to  him  excitedly,  "Jonas!  " 

And  he  turns  and  whispers,  "My  angel!"  kissing 
her  very  tenderly. 

But  she  breaks  out  eagerly:  "  I  want  Annie  instantly. 
That  sick  child  be'ow  has  got  the  fever." 

"The  fever!  when  I  expect  an  inspection  from  the 
committee  to-day,"  moans  the  Reverend  Jonas;  then 
mutters  threateningly  under  his  voice,  "Wait  until  she 
gets  well!" 

But  his  wife  interjects,  "  If  she  is  to  get  well  I 
must  send  Annie  for  the  doctor." 

"Then  let  it  be  the  «.y#0/ one ;  you  understand--! 
don't  like  strange  doctors;  they  sometimes  make 
hideous  mistakes,"  grumbles  the  Shepherd. 

His  spouse  echoes  his  idea,  saying:  "Yes,  one  actu- 
ally said  a  child  here  died  from  lack  of  proper  nourish- 
ment." 

"Couldn't  tell  the  difference  between  starvation  and 
measles,"  whines  the  Reverend  Jonas. 

"But  I  will  send  for  the  old  one,  my  love,"  whispers 
his  spouse;  "do  not  fear.  And  the  newsboys  are 
down  stairs. " 

"Oh,  the  newsboys!  Ah,  yes!"  murmurs  Mawley 
placidly.  '  'The  tvvo/a/or.es  I  selected  to  show  to  the  com- 
mittee to-dav."  Then  he  commands,  "Annie,  send  the 


34  HER   SENATOR. 

boys  up !   After  that,  quick  as  you  can,  to  the  doctor's. " 

With  a  hurried  and  timid  "Yes,  sir,"  Annie  Graham 
slips  from  the  room,  anxious  to  get  away  from  the 
presence  of  this  man,  who  is  her  dread  by  day  and  her 
horror  by  night,  for  she  dreams  of  Mr.  Mawley's  pun- 
ishments; even  in  her  sleep,  making  night  hideous  to 
her  unfortunate  companion  by  her  wild  cries  for  mercy 
as  she  tosses  upon  her  pallet  bed. 

A  moment  after,  two  fat,  round,  chubby-faced  Arabs 
of  the  street  stride  complacently  in,  with  bundles  of 
evening  papers  under  their  arms,  and  look  about  them 
with  the  unaffected  complacency  produced  by  a  child- 
hood whose  rugged  life  upon  the  streets  has  given 
them  the  self-confidence  of  manhood — aye,  even  more, 
the  cheek  of  the  newsboy. 

"Say,  boss,"  says  Jakie,  who  is  number  one  of  the 
duo,  "what  do  you  want  of  us?  Have  a  paper?" 
Then  he  raises  up  his  voice  in  strident  cry:  "Telegram, 
News,  Evening  Sun — all  about  the  battle  of  Plevna!  " 

Upon  this  Sammy,  the  second  of  the  duet,  screams: 
"  Extree  extra!  Osmond  Pasha  a-butchering  the  Rus- 
sen  wounded!  Schoboleft  a-fightin'  of  Mm  too  the 
death !  Massarnr*  of  the  Bosphorous !  " 

The  din  they  make  is  so  unendurable  that  Mrs.  Maw- 
ley,  placing  her  plump  hands  to  her  ears,  cries  out: 
"Good  Heavens,  stop  that  noise!" 

But  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mawley  replies  soothingly, '  'No, 
Siy  darling  boys,  I  want  you  to  dress  in  the  uniform  of 
this  institution  and  answer  certain  questions  some  gen- 
tlemen will  put  to  you  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so." 

"Any  money  in  the  job?"  remarks  Jakie  with  the 
air  of  a  man  of  business. 

"Yes,  fifty  cents  a  piece." 

"  Then  we  can  do  Wood's  Museum  to-night,  Sammy, 
and  I'll  go  you  a  pint  of  peanuts  between  acts,"  says 
the  young  financier  generously. 


HER   SENATOR.  35 

"  It's  a  go,"  assents  Sammy. 

"Then  come,  my  dears,  and  get  your  uniform  on," 
says  Mrs.  Mawley  placidly. 

But  while  this  has  been  going  on  the  boys  have  been 
using  their  eyes;  the  unnatural  gloom  of  the  place,  the 
pallor  of  the  drawn  faces  about  Mawley 's  inhospitable 
board  has  impressed  itself  upon  the  denizens  of  an 
outer  and  a  happier  world.  A  horrible  thrill  of  sus- 
picion flies  through  their  precocious  minds.  They 
gaze  at  the  unhappy  faces  and  gaunt  forms  of  those 
who  wear  the  uniform  of  Mawley. 

"Say,"  remarks  the  elder,  "This  ain't  no  dodge 
to  make  paupers  out  of  us?  If  so  we  mizzle,"  and  the 
two  boys  get  together  in  pugilistic  attitude  to  prevent 
any  force  being  used  to  detain  them. 

"Only  for  half  an  hour,"  utters  Mawley  soothingly. 
"Square?"  says  Sammy,  suspiciously. 
"Of    course,     my  dears;  you    are    speaking   to  a 
minister,"  remarks  Mrs.  Mawley. 

Whereupon  Jakie  assents:  "That's  perpendicular! 
But  we  want  it  in  advance — two  half  dollars !  " 

And  Mr.  Mawley  after  searching  in  his  pocket  for 
the  coins,  produces  them  and  pays  him. 

During  this,  Sammy,  who  is  a  very  round  faced 
plump  vender  of  news,  has  drawn  near  blue-eyed 
Sallie,  who  has  reached  out  her  little  hand  and  cau- 
tiously pinched  his  arm.  "What's  the  matter,  shrimp?" 
says  the  urchin  with  a  guffaw. 
"Why — why  you're  fat!  " 

"Well,  what  of  that,  sissy?"  queries  the  news  boy. 
"Why,  I  never,  never  saw  a  fat  boy  before,"  says 
the  little  girl,  her  eyes  growing  big  with  astonishment. 
For  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the  institution  and 
fatness  in  men  as  exemplified  by  Mr.  Mawley  seems 
natural  to  her,  but  that  children  should  be  well  fed 
and  plump,  out  of  the  very  course  of  nature  itself. 


36  HER   SENATOR. 

"  Cracky!  "  cries  Jakie,  laughingly. 

And  Sammy,  pointing  down  to  her,  guffaws:  "  Never 
saw  a  fat  boy  before.  Here's  five  cents  for  you,  sis," 
giving  her  a  nickel,  at  which  the  little  girl  utters  a  cry 
of  delight,  for  it  is  the  first  coin  she  has  ever  had  in 
her  little  life,  either  to  play  with  or  to  spend. 

But  this  scene  has  grown  embarrassing  both  to  Mrs. 
Mawley  and  her  husband,  though  the  latter  has  at- 
tempted to  regard  it  as  a  joke  and  has  guffawed  louder 
even  than  the  newsboys. 

"Come  down  stairs  and  earn  your  coins  now 
you  have  got  them,'  remarks  his  spouse;  and  the 
two  products  of  liberty  go  down  with  stamping 
feet  and  merry  yells  of  laughter,  leaving  the  chil- 
dren of  philanthropic  Mawley  looking  after  them, 
astounded  that  there  is  such  happiness  within  the 
world. 


HER   SENATOR.  37 


CHAPTER  IV. 
"i  SOLD  THE  BIBLE!" 

"WHAT  fine,  fat  lads  to  show  to  the  Committee," 
murmurs  the  reverend  gentleman  rubbing  one  hand 
over  the  other  in  unctuous  bliss.  "And  now  to  busi- 
ness! "  this  last  more  sternly.  "But  first  come  here, 
Sallie,  my  child,"  beckoning  the  little  one  to  him,  who 
approaches  reluctantly.  "Come  here!  "  with  a  stamp 
of  his  foot,  as  the  child  shudderingly  goes  to  him.  Then 
his  voice  becomes  unctuous  and  soft  again.  "That 
boy  gave  you  a  coin.  Give  it  to  me.  Remember, 
money  buys  candy  and  candy  produces  biliousness, 
which  is  bad  for  little  girls.  Give  it  here  !  "  And  tak- 
ing the  little  fist  that  clenches  closely  the  first  coin  of 
Sallie's  life,  Mr.  Mawley  despoils  the  child  of  her  first 
present,  and  she  goes  sobbingly  back  to  her  seat,  while 
the  philanthropist's  voice,  growing  very  stern,  com- 
mands: "Now  to  discipline!  Look  me  in  the  eye!" 
and  his  gaze  seems  to  fascinate  them  all.  "  Who  gave 
Mathilde  their  provisions  ?  Who  gave ?  " 

To  this  some  of  the  children  falteringly  gasp:  "  It 
was  French  Eva  and  Mollie  and  Sallie." 

"That's  a  lie!  I  didn't  give  her  my  provisions, 
I  gave  her  Annie's  provisions,"  mutters  Miss  Bowery 
doggedly. 

"Deceit  and  prevarication!  Do  you  ever  expect  to 
go  to  heaven  ? 

"On  this  grub,"  answers  the  product  of  the  streets, 
savagely,  "I'll  go  to  heaven  in  about  a  week!" 

Whereupon  something  unpleasant  would  have  hap- 
pened to  her,  for  Mawley  has  muttered,  "Insolence!" 
and  has  reached  out  his  chastising  hand,  did  not  at  this 


38  HER   SENATOR. 

moment  his  spouse  reappear  again  saying  excitedly: 
"  Jonas,  a  letter  from  the  Committee!  " 

Opening  it,  the  Shepherd's  face  grows  radiant. 
1 '  From  our  dear  philanthropic  Committee.  They  are  all 
too  busy,  they  write  me,  to  inspect  the  institution,"  he 
murmurs;  then  raising  his  voice  remarks:  "Listen, 
you  ingrates,  to  what  the  Committee  thinks  of  your  kind 
benefactor,"  and  reads: 

"We  know  that  the  children  are  in  the  hands  of  a  man 
who  has  devoted  his  life  to  philanthropy,  and  of  course  are 
aware  that  everything  is  being  done  for  the  welfare  of  the 
children  in  The  Shepherd'i  Fold." 

"Remember  that,"  he  adds,  "when  you  feel  in- 
clined to  rebel  against  kindness  and  parental  dis- 
cipline; when  your  gluttonous  stomachs  cry  out  for 
more  food  that  would  be  bad  for  you! " 

Then  he  says  uxoriously  to  his  wife:  "My  pet,  have 
you  let  the  newsboys  go  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  get  the  fifty  cents  apiece  back  from 
them  ?  " 

"They  refused  to  give  it  up." 

"The  godless  robbers!"  mutters  the  saintly  man, 
and  his  voice  becomes  harsher  as  he  adds:  "  Patience, 
bring  me  the  Bible.  I  will  read  a  chapter  from  it  and 
say  the  evening  prayers,  then  the  children  shall  go  to 
bed — it  is  better  for  them  to  retire  by  daylight,  candles 
are  dear." 

But  Mrs.  Mawley  turning  to  get  the  Bible  of  the 
institution  gives  an  astonished  little  squeak:  "  Jonas, 
it  isn't  here." 

"What  is  not  here?" 

"The  Bible  isn't  here." 

"Impossible!  It  must  be  here — or  did  you  take 
it  to  the  Committee  Room  that  the  gentlemen  might 
notice  it  prominently,^! 


HER   SENATOR.  39 

"No." 

"Run  down  stairs  and  see." 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Mawley  bounces  into  the  room 
and  ejaculates:  "The  Bible  of  the  Fold  isn't  below!' 

"Good  gracious!  we  use  it  enough.  It  must  be 
somewhere,''  cries  the  Shepherd. 

But  though  both  he  and  his  wife  search  through  the 
bare  school-room  and  barer  dining-room  the  Bible 
can't  be  found,  and  Mawley  looks  about  for  some  one 
upon  whom  to  ope  the  vials  of  his  wrath. 

He  finds  one  ready  to  his  hand.  Annie  has  just" 
come  in  breathless  from  her  errand. 

"I've — I've  brought  a  doctor,"  she  stammers.  Then 
she  would  apparently  add  to  her  story,  "He — he 
was " 

"Stop  that  noise!  "  cries  Mawley  sternly,  and  beck- 
oning Annie  to  him  says  savagely,  "What  have  you 
done  with  the  Bible  ?  " 

1 '  The— the  Bible ! "  stutters  the  girl.    ' '  What  Bible  ?" 

"The  Bible  of  the  institution.  Don't  prevaricate. 
Answer  me!  It  was  left  in  your  charge  as  well  as 
everything  else  in  this  room.  What  have  you  done 
with  it  ? " 

"I — I  don't  know,"  falters  the  unfortunate  one,  ap- 
prehension in  her  eyes,  for  Mr.  Mawley's  appearance 
is  appalling. 

"  Don't  know  ?  Then  I  will  teach  you  to  know.  If 
you  don't  find  that  Bible  by  eight  o'clock  to-night, 
come  to  me  in  my  library." 

At  this  dire  injunction  Annie  falls  on  her  knees 
screaming  wildly  for  mercy,  for  Mr.  Mawley's  library 
is  also  his  torture  chamber,  in  which  he  visits  the  de- 
linquencies of  childhood  upon  their  trembling  frames 
with  cruel  stripes. 

But  here  a  gasp  of  astonishment  comes  from  the 
surrounding  and  affrighted  inmates  of  his  home.  Eve- 


40  HER  SENATOR. 

lyn  Ellison's  voice  is  heard  calmly  saying:  "If  you 
whip  Annie  you  will  do  wrong.  It  will  be  impossible 
for  her  to  find  it.  It  is  not  her  fault  it  is  not  here.  I 
— I  SOLD  IT  !  "  And  despite  herself  a  tremor  of  dread 
is  in  the  young  girl's  voice. 

"Sold  what?" 

"  Sold  the  Bible  for  fifteen  cents  to  keep  my  little 
sister  alive  /"  answers  the  girl  confronting  Mawley,  in- 
dignation overcoming  fear. 

41  Sold  the  Bible!  "  Here  the  Reverend  Jonas's  face 
assumes  an  expression  of  horror  of  such  tremendous 
intensity  that  Bowery  Mollie,  who  has  not  been  long 
enough  in  the  establishment  to  have  forgotten  how, 
shrieks  with  laughter,  though  the  scene  is  a  horrible 
one,  for  the  great,  big,  oily,  powerful  man  has  reached 
out  his  hand  and  taken  the  thin  yet  graceful  figure  of 
the  girl  by  her  two  shoulders  and  is  gazing  at  her  as 
the  snake  does  at  his  prey. 

"SOLD  THE  BIBLE!  "  he  repeats,  as  if  he  could  not 
understand  such  awful  depravity.  "  Sold  it  for  PRO- 
VISIONS. "  Then  his  eyes  seek  the  floor  near  the  little 
Mathilde,  and  he  mutters:  "Yes,  the  crumbs  are 
those  of  pie  and  CAKE.  We  never  have  pie  and  cake 
here.  By  the  Lord,  I  believe  you — you  thief — you  in- 
grate — you  have  sold  the  word  of  God  for  a  mess  of 
pottage."  Each  adjuration  being  emphasized  by  a 
shake  that  makes  his  victim's  teeth  rattle  like  casta- 
nets. 

But  the  brave  eyes  of  the  girl  look  into  his,  and  she 
answers  passionately,  but  without  a  whimper,  though 
his  strong  fingers  are  bruising  her  delicate  arms: 

"Yes!  I  would  sell  my  soul  to  keep  my  little  sister 
from  the  starvation  of  your  home!  " 

"By  heaven,  you  look  it!"  mutters  Mawley. 
"You  have  more  devil  than  angel  in  you,  my  lady, 
with  all  your  airs  and  graces,"  and  despite  himself  he 


HER  SENATOR.  4! 

can't  help  noting  the  promise  of  good  and  evil  in  the 
girl — that  she  will  be  a  Cornelia  or  a  Cleopatra — one 
or  the  other.  "You  know  the  punishment  for  steal- 
ing  in  my  institution,"  he  goes  on,  a  kind  of  savage 
Puritanism  in  his  voice,  "  Stripes  for  the  thief!  " 

At  this  the  girl  suddenly  blushes,  then  grows  deathly 
pale  and  trembles,  though  her  great  eyes  never  leave 
his  face. 

But  Mrs.  Mawley  hurriedly  says  "Not  here!  Not 
now!  The  doctor  is  below  with  the  sick  child." 

"You  are  right,  Patience,  my  angel!"  assents  Mr. 
Mawley.  "I'll  take  this  culprit  to  my  library,  and 
after  I  have  finished  with  the  rest  here,  I  will  thrash 
the  evil  out  of  her!  " 

Then  with  strong  hand  he  drags  the  girl — though 
she  says  no  word,  nor  makes  resistance — to  his  library, 
that  is  upon  the  same  floor  of  the  house,  and  locks 
her  in — not  taking  the  trouble  to  note  that  a  hay 
wagon  is  approaching  along  the  unpaved  street  upon 
which  the  windows  of  this  room  open. 

Returning  from  this  to  his  affrighted  flock,  the  ad- 
ministrator of  public  justice  gets  a  shock. 

Annie  continues  her  story  that  Mawley  had  inter- 
rupted by  his  threats,  and  horrifies  the  Shepherd.  She 
says:  "I  have  brought  a  doctor,  but  not  the  one  you 
sent  for;  he  was  out!" 

"Then  whom  did  you  bring?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir;  he  was  with  his  father  at  the 
door;  I  heard  his  father  calling  him  a  doctor,  and  I 
begged  him  to  come  in." 

Whereupon  Mawley,  in  a  gasp  of  horror,  ejaculates: 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would  have  no  strange  doctor? " 

And  the  girl  murmurs:  "Oh,  sir,  the  child  was  so 
sick  I  could  not  bear  to  wait."  Then  she  adds  simply: 
"He  is  a,  good  doctor.  He  knows  what's  the  matter 
With  the  child/' 


42  HER  SENATOR. 

"The  devil,"  gasps  the  saintly  Mawley,  turning 
pale. 

"And  he  says  she  is  to  have  chicken  broth  and  wine." 

' '  Chicken  broth  and  WINE  !  Perhaps  he'll  expect  me 
to  buy  it.  I  can  sell  my  property  to  buy  it,  as  that 
wretched  girl  did  to  give  cake  and  pie  to  her  glutton 
sister." 

And  he  picks  up  Mattie  and  shakes  her,  and  raises 
his  hand,  as  the  little  child  puts  up  her  innocent  face  to 
him  and  cries:  "You  bad  man;  what  have  you  done 
with  my  sister! "  then  screams  as  he  smacks  her,  "Sceur 
cherie  d  moi — &  moi!" 

At  her  cry  a  handsome  young  man  of  alert  step 
springs  in  the  door,  seizes  Mawley's  upraised  hand, 
twists  him  round  and  throws  him  to  one  side,  mutter- 
ing, "Brute!  " 

"Who  are  you,  coming  between  a  child  and  her  legal 
guardian,"  snarls  the  Shepherd. 

"I  am  the  doctor  called  in  to  attend  the  sick  child 
below.  Permit  me  to  present  my  card,"  and  he  does 
so,  and  loking  at  it,  Mawley  stammers,  "James  Ber- 
tram Guernsey,  M.D." 

"  I  came  here  with  my  father,  Overhand  Guernsey, 
to  see  two  children  he  left  in  your  charge  nearly  four 
years  ago.  At  the  gate  I  was  asked  by  this  girl  to 
look  at  a  sick  child  below.  I  entered  this  room  to 
give  you  my  report.  This  poor  little  girl's  cries  for 
mercy  caught  my  ear.  My  profession  is  to  mitigate 
suffering  in  the  world.  Could  I  listen  to  the  cry  of  a 
fatherless  child  and  not  answer  it? "  Then  he  calls 
out  sternly,  ' '  Father!  " 

At  his  word  Overhand  Guernsey  comes  in,  and  Maw- 
ley gazes  at  him  astounded  and  dismayed. 

"Where  are  the  two  children  of  Arthur  Ellison?"  he 
asks  hurriedly,  almost  frightenedly,  for  the  appearance 
of  the  place  has  given  many  a  pang  to  th^  man  who, 


HER   SENATOR.  43 

with  the  fear  of  prison  taken  from  him,  has  discovered 
he  has  a  conscience,  and  it  is  smiting  him. 

"One's  sobbin*  on  the  floor,  and  the  other's  locked 
up  in  the  library  waitin'  to  be  licked,"  screams  Bowery 
Mollie. 

"Which  way? "cries  Guernsey  and  his  son  together. 

" Third  door  on  the  right,"  yells  the  product  from 
the  slums,  excitedly  dancing  a  jig  of  delight  about 
Mawley,  who  has  sunk  in  dismay  upon  a  chair  as  his 
two  visitors  have  run  along  the  passage. 

A  minute  after  they  return,  the  elder  bearing  in  his 
hand  a  scrap  of  paper.  "Your  victim  has  fled  from 
you,"  he  says,  holding  it  before  the  Shepherd's  eyes, 
who  reads: 

"  I  dare  not  stay,  for  if  you  struck  me,  I  should  kill  you.  I 
had  ground  a  pair  of  scissors  for  you,  Idche  and  assassin  that 
you  are.  Beware  how  you  treat  Mathilde,  for  some  day  I  shall 
return  for  her. 

"That  is  her  handwriting?"  questions  the  elder 
Guernsey,  gazing  at  the  unformed,  childish  characters. 

"Yes,"  mutters  Mawley  excitedly.  "She  can't  be 
far  off ! " 

"My  sister  has  runned  away,"  falters  Mathilde. 
Then  she  sobs  with  the  unconscious  pathos  of  childhood : 
"I  shall  never  see  my  Evie  again!"  and  screams: 
' '  Viens  soeur  chtrie !  Come  back  to  Mignonncttc  \ 
come  back!" 

Listening  to  her,  Guernsey's  conscience  cries  out 
within  him,  "  MY  crime!" 

"  You  cruel  ruffian !  the  child  below  is  suffering  not 
from  fever  but  from  starvation,"  remarks  the  young 
doctor,  sternly  confronting  Mawley.  "Heaven  has 
not  punished  you,  but  I  will  see  that  the  law  does!" 

"Bully  for  you!" 

"Bully  for 'ou!" 

The  first  comes  from  Bowery  Mollie,  who  is  clap 


44  HER   SENATOR. 

ping  her  hands  like  wild.  The  second  is  an  echo  from 
the  tot  Sallie,  who  has  placed  admiring  blue  eyes  upon 
the  dashing  young  doctor. 

But  his  father  interposes  nervously :  "  First  let  us  find 
the  sister."  Then,  for  his  conscience  is  smiting  him  very 
hard  now,  he  takes  into  his  arms  the  daughter  of  his  be- 
trayed  friend  and  mutters:  "  You  shall  be  happy  again, 
little  one  I  will  take  you  where  you  shall  suffer  no 
more." 

"Where's  that?"  prattles  the  child  in  a  tired, 
dreamy  way. 

"  HOME!"  answers  the  man  in  a  husky  voice,  moving 
with  his  burden  towards  the  door,  the  children  of  the 
Fold  gazing  at  him  open-eyed,  astonished  and  silent. 

"  Home! — like  papa's  home — where  people  say  kind 
words  to  you  and  you  ain't  never  hungry?"  asks  the 
child  with  unbelieving  voice  and  astonished  eyes. 

'Yes,"  murmurs  Guernsey.  Then  he  prays:  "  May 
her  dead  father  forgive  me  now!"  and  lifting  the  little 
face  to  his  kisses  it  and  his  tears  fall  upon  it. 

Then  of  a  sudden  little  Sallie  cries,  clapping  her  little 
hands:  "Oh,  he  tissed  her  !"  And  as  the  handsome 
young  doctor,  dressed  in  fine  raiment,  turns  to  follow 
his  father,  this  toddler  who  has  never  known  father  nor 
mother,  nor  love,  nor  even  Christian  kindness,  springs 
after  this  man  who  has  shown  to  her  for  the  first  time 
in  her  short  life,  humanity ;  seizes  his  coat  tails  and  tug- 
ging at  them  with  baby  hands  puts  up  a  pathetic  face 
ar.d  cries:  "  Say,  Mister!  won't  'ou  tiss  me?" 

"Kiss  you,  little  waif?  Why?"  asks  the  doctor  in 
kindly  surprise. 

"  Because,"  says  the  little  one  simply,  "  I'VE  NEVER 

NEVER    BEEN  TISSED IN  MY  WHOLE  LIFE!" 

"  My  God!  "  mutters  the  young  man,  and  takes  her 
to  his  heait  with  streaming  eyes. 


HER    SENATOR.  45 

Coming  out  from  Mawley's  Fold  bearing  one  sister 
in  his  arms,  Guernsey  and  his  son  seek  for  the  other. 
But  night  is  coming  on,  already  it  is  dark,  and  even 
the  suburb  of  a  great  city  has  too  many  people  upon 
its  streets  to  make  one  poor  girl,  more  or  less,  of  notice 
or  distinction. 

The  son  would  advertise  and  call  the  police  to  aid  in 
the  search,  but  his  father  dissuades  him  from  this,  for 
Guernsey  is  a  man  upon  whose  conscience  self-interest 
is  a  most  potent  narcotic.  He  fears  to  make  the  affair 
public,  or  to  prosecute  Mawley,  dreading  anything  that 
may  throw  light  upon  his  treatment  of  the  two  little  girls 
confided  to  his  care  by  the  hand  of  their  dead  father 
who  had  trusted  him. 

Consequently,  though  Doctor  Jim  makes  diligent 
inquiries  on  his  own  account,  two  days  afterward  they 
return  to  Guernsey's  great  western  cattle  ranch,  bear- 
ing with  them  one  little  child,  Mathilde. 

The  shadows  of  a  great  city  have  fallen  upon  the 
other,  the  older  one. 


HER   SENATOR. 


BOOK   II. 
CATCHING  A  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  v. 

"i  WILL  BE  HIS  CLEOPATRA!" 

"  BIJOU,  I  must  have  a  senator!  " 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want  with  a  senator?" 
growls  a  masculine  voice. 

" Mon  cher,  I  want  him,  to  sell  him,"  laughs  the 
lady. 

"What  the  deuce  is  one  of  those  Albany  fellows 
worth  to  anybody  but  himself  ?  " 

"  Mon  petit,  I  don't  speak  of  a  State  senator,  I  aspire 
to  a  United  States  senator.  This  newspaper  says  that 
many  of  them  sell  themselves  for  a  great  deal  of  money 
to  trusts  and  corporations.  Now  I  want  a  senator  to 
sell  him  for  my  own  benefit,  not  his.  Comprenez  f  " 
And  Eva  Montressor  taps  the  forehead  of  the  curly- 
headed,  mustachioed  young  giant,  whom  she  has  ad- 
dressed as  "Bijou"  and  "Mon  petit";  then  adds: 
"  Put  that  in  thy  little  brain,  canst  thou  ?  " 

"By  the  living  Jingo,  if  you  cut  up  any  monkey- 
shines  with  him  I'll  go  on  a  rampage  that  will  astonish 
you,"  remarks  the  husband  to  the  wife. 

"Astonish  me,  my  dear  ?  That  is  impossible.  Any- 
way," adds  the  lady  with  a  sigh,  "it  is  better  than 
Bohemian  starvation.  Why  don't  you  go  on  a  rampage 
to  earn — money  f  " 

"Have  I  not  slaved  like  a  Trojan?"  replies  the 
gentleman  addressed.  "Didn't  I  play  light  comedy 


HER  SENATOR.  47 

in  Varick's  Company  and  walk  home  ?  Haven't  I 
painted  pictures  until  the  paint  man  won't  trust  me 
for  more  artist's  materials  ?  What  do  you  want  me  to 
do — work?  " 

This  last  word  is  uttered  in  an  injured  voice  as  if  the 
cruelty  implied  by  the  idea  is  too  terrible  to  contem- 
plate. 

"  Bah,  Bijou!  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  be  silent  and  to 
do  as  you  are  told." 

"  What's  that  ?" 

"Be  a  good  little  boy  and  not  cut  up  rough  while  wifey 
directs  the  family  ship.  Then  it  can  eat  bonbons  and 
do  nothing  for  the  rest  of  its  life.  It  can  even  make 
love  to  all  the  latest  imported  coro,  and  I  shall  say 
nothing,"  remarks  the  lady  gazing  upon  the  chalky 
face  of  the  young  man  that  grows  florid  with  blushes  at 
this  insinuation.  "It's  anxious  to  run  away  now, 
I  see,"  she  continues  with  a  laugh.  "Who  is  it? 
Miss  Betty  Tollemache,  of  the  Artist's  Girl  Company 
or  Mademoiselle  Carrolia  Guissipe  of  the  Metropolitan 
First  Line  of  Coryphees.  You  see  I'm  not  jealousmy  dear; 
in  fact  I  don't  think  enough  of  you  to  be  jealous.  You 
want  to  go  your  way ;  do  it  if  you  like.  I  will  follow 
mine.  I  have  greater  ambitions.  Besides  ours  was  an 
emotional,  touch  and  go,  Bohemian  marriage,  anyway!  " 
and  she  pats  his  big  blonde  cheeks  and  laughs  at  him. 

The  gentleman  does  not  answer  this  directly;  he 
merely  mutters  longingly,  "By  jove,  I  wish  I  had  a 
cigar." 

"Agree  to  my  proposition  and  Claudie  shall  have 
one,"  jeers  the  lady. 

"By  George,  that  means  that  you  have  money, 
Evie !  "  cries  the  man  brightening  up. 

"  Yes,  I  always  have  a  little.  If  I  didn't  the  dinner 
hour  would  be  the  bad  one  for  both  you  and  me^-" 
jemarks  his  spouse  philosophically. 


48  ttEfe  SENATOR. 

"Then  hand  it  over,"  replies  the  gentleman,  his 
manner  becoming  brisk  and  eager. 

' '  I  will — enough  for  one  cigar.  I  didn't  stipulate  for 
a  box,"  and  the  girl,  for  though  she  is  old  enough  to  be 
a  matron,  Evelyn  Montressor  still  bears  vivacious  and 
perennial  youth  on  her  fair  face,  holds  a  dainty  hand 
over  the  giant,  and  drops  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  into  his 
outstretched  palm. 

"Is  that  all!" 

"  Mon  Dicu!  Do  you  want  cigars  that  cost  more 
than  twenty-five  cents,  my  sybarite,  who  cannot 
smoke  a  pipe,  and  who  disdains  cigarettes  ? "  ejaculates 
the  lady  as  she  stands  over  him  in  dainty  pose,  for 
Claude  Auchester  Montressor  is  a  great  big  lazy 
fellow,  and  is  reclining  at  full  length  in  a  hammock 
this  sultry  April  day. 

"  By  Jove,  I  wish  I  could  paint  you  as  you  look  now; 
that  would  make  my  fortune,"  he  says  languidly,  his 
eyes  for  a  moment  lighting  up  with  admiration. 

"Thank  you,  Bijou,  but  I  have  no  wish  to  be  carica- 
tured by  your  brush,"  she  replies.  "You  had  that 
opportunity  when  in  honeymoon  lunacy  I  thought  you 
could  paint.  But  now " 

" Now,"  growls  Claude,  savagely,  "you  sit  for  Ama- 
die,  the  Italian." 

"Yes,"  answers  the  lady,  "I  have  posed^for  him. 
You  needn't  get  angry,  Claude.  You  have  seen  the 
picture.  Only  head,  shoulders  and  arms  in  the  dis- 
creet de'collete'  of  the  ladies  you  admire  in  the  boxes 
of  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House.  And  it  has  been 
the  luckiest  thing  I  ever  did.  For  Amadie  is  a  genius, 
an  industrious  genius,  who  decorates  walls  and  ceilings 
all  the  day  for  his  bread  and  butter,  and  paints  like 
lightning  all  the  night  for  fame  and  fortune.  And 
what  has  been  the  result  ?  He  offered  to  exhibit  my 
portrait  at  one  of  their  fashionable  women  shows, 


HER  SENATOR.  49 

where  they  give  tea  for  charity  and  collect  much  money 
for  the  poor,  and  it  was  rejected  because  I  had  not 
Colonial  ancestry.  But  strung  up  on  the  walls  in 
Twenty-third  street,  that  didn't  prevent  its  being  the 
rage,  did  it  ?  And  now  I  have,  as  the  result,  admir- 
ers by  the  score." 

"Yes,  four  newspaper  men,  fourteen  actors,  and  one 
capitalist,"  answers  the  other,  with  surly  emphasis 
upon  the  last  of  his  catalogue. 

' '  There,  you've  hit  it  at  last,  my  stupid  one, "  says  the 
lady,  laughingly.  "One  capitalist — that  is  the  impor- 
tant item  in  your  schedule — Mr.  Steinbergh,  of  the 
Gelatine  Trust." 

"  Aha!  it  is  he  who  has  put  into  your  head  the  idea 
of  selling  a  senator!  Are  you  going  to  vend  him  to 
Steinbergh  ? " 

"Hush,  my  dear;  Mr.  Steinbergh  has  never  men- 
tioned the  thing  to  me.  It's  the  newspapers — they 
have  suggested  the  idea;  the  gossipy  newspapers  and 
poverty  that  quickens  the  wits." 

"Poverty,  bah!"  answers  her  companion.  "  If  I 
could  paint  you  as  you  look  now  I  could  sell  the  picture 
for  more  money " 

"Than  you  will  ever  make  by  your  brush,  my  lazy 
Claude,"  laughs  the  lady. 

And  she  is  right;  for  few  more  beautiful  pictures 
have  come  to  the  eye  of  man  upon  this  earth  than 
Evelyn  Montressor;  as  she  stands  in  the  sunshine  that 
beams  through  the  open  window  upon  her,  making 
every  hair  upon  her  charming  head  a  thread  of  gold, 
lighting  up  her  sapphire  eyes,  and  tinging  in  loving 
lights  and  shadows  the  airy  graces  of  her  form  as  she 
stands  there  in  exquisite  pose,  looking  like  a  daughter 
of  Spring.  Her  face  has  that  vivacious  nobility  that 
gives  lightness  and  dainty  sauciness  to  features  that 
without  it  would  be,  perchance,  too  coldly  classical, 


50  HER   SENATOR. 

though  her  eyes  emit  flashes  that  show  there  is  a  great 
and  resolute  spirit,  perchance  sometimes  a  misguided 
one,  behind  their  rainbow  loveliness.  Her  mouth  would 
be  perhaps  too  firm  for  a  woman,  did  not  the  tendet- 
softness  of  the  lips  indicate  a  subdued  and  restrained 
passion  that  at  times  may  make  her  heart  rule  her  head 
— in  some  grand  affair,  some  great  sacrifice — when  she 
will  give  her  all,  and  give  it  nobly  ! 

"  By  skittles! "  says  the  man  looking  at  her,  "you're 
as  lovely  as  the  angels  of  Paradise !  "  Then  he  adds 
eagerly,  "But  I  think  I  will  go  for  my  cigar." 

With  this  the  gentleman  springs  from  his  hammock, 
and  putting  on  a  light  hat,  bangs  the  door  after  him 
in  his  rapid  exit  in  search  of  the  longed-for  weed. 

"Beautiful  as  the  angels  of  Paradise !"  sneers  the 
lady,  looking  after  him.  "Yes,  Claude,  that's  a  souve- 
nir of  our  honeymoon  frenzy.  Now,  I  am  not  so 
attractive  as  Betsy  Tollemache  of  the  Artist's  Girl 
Company,  and  scarcely  compare  in  your  emotions  with 
Carrolia  Guissipe"  of  the  Metropolitan  Coryphees."  Then 
she  adds  bitterly,  "My  Claude,  you  have  had  your  hour. 
We  drifted  together,  why  should  we  not  drift  apart. 
This  summer  is  the  last  of  you  for  me,  you  miserable, 
lazy,  worthless,  do  everything,  do  nothing  drone!  " 

And  the  lady  clenches  her  hands  and  looks  about  the 
apartment,  which  is  Bohemian  from  the  parrot  that  has 
been  gazing  admiringly  upon  her  and  now  shrieks: 
"  Go  home!  Go  home!  the  wine's  all  gone!  "  to  the 
easel  witk  one  of  Claude's  half  finished  daubs  upon  it, 
and  the  cushioned  hammock,  made  for  lazy  lounging. 
The  articles  of  furniture  are  inexpensive,  most  of  them, 
but  some  of  them  very  dainty;  and  one  or  two  quite 
costly  and  bearing  the  inscription,  "  To  Mademoiselle 
Chica."  A  piano,  a  guitar,  a  banjo,  attest  the  musical 
quality  in  the  Bohemian  pair. 

Some  late  novels,  most  of  them  in  French;  a  pair  of 


HER   SENATOR.  $1 

gigantic  men's  slippers  in  opposite  corners  of  the  room, 
an  empty  beer  bottle  on  a  side  table,  and  three  or  four 
pictures,  one  of  which  is  apparently  painted  by  a  genius 
and  signed  "  Amadie,"  as  well  as  a  photograph  of  the 
lady  herself,  her  exquisitely  proportioned  form  dis- 
played by  an  inspired  Parisian  evening  gown,  and  un- 
derneath the  brief  statement,  "  Chica,"  give  variety  to 
the  mise-en-sclnc. 

These,  with  a  set  of  boxing  gloves,  a  pair  of  foils, 
one  of  them  broken ;  a  picture  of  the  gentleman  of  the 
late  conversation,  arrayed  in  hose  and  doublet  and  with 
a  long  rapier,  inscribed,  "Mr.  Montressor,  in  his  great 
character  of  the  Silent  Cavalier,"  a  part  in  which  Claude 
had  made  his  only  hit,  chiefly  because  the  exigencies 
of  the  role  compelled  him  to  keep  his  mouth  very  firmly 
closed  during  the  whole  performance — all  go  to  give  a 
peculiar  bric-a-brac  appearance  to  the  room. 

"It's  an  old  curiosity  shop,"  laughs  the  young  lady, 
glancing  around  the  room.  Then  she  mutters:  "I 
wonder  if  they  will  bring  money  enough  for  my  plan ! " 
showing  that  she  has  thoughts  of  turning  the  house- 
hold lares  et penatcs  into  gold  for  some  scheme  that  is 
in  her  vivacious  brain. 

A  moment  after  she  suddenly  claps  her  hands  and 
laughs:  "  I'll  do  it — I'll  sell  him  high!  "  next  mutters, 
"  But  how  to  get  him  and  who  to  get  ?  These  senators 
are  mostly  wary  old  birds.  Steinbergh  tells  me  that 
the  Senate  is  the  difficult  place  for  the  Gelatine  bill." 

Here  she  suddenly  starts  and  cries:  "Come  in!  I 
know  it's  you  by  your  knock." 

"You  know  it's  who?  "  says  the  gentleman,  entering. 

"You,  of  course — Von  Spitzer!  " 

"That  is  a  safe  guess,  after  you  see  my  face,"  Von 
Spitzer  laughs.  Then  he  goes  on,  casting  a  glance  at 
the  spring  toilet  of  the  lady,  which  is  soft  white  mus- 
lin, with  three  patches  of  color — blue  at  neck,  waist 


52  HER   SENATOR. 

and  slippered  feet:  "Tell  you  what,  Evie,  you're  the 
smartest  little  chick  within  eight  or  ten  blocks  of 
Washington  Square." 

For  the  apartment  occupied  by  Evelyn  and  Claude 
is  in  that  peculiar  neighborhood  which  is  filled  with  a 
mixture  of  everything  in  a  social  way  and  in  an  w«social 
way.  The  homes  of  the  great  families  of  New  York 
that  cannot  give  up  their  charming  old  spacious  resi- 
dences about  the  north  side  of  the  square  are  in  juxta- 
position with  the  cheap  boarding  houses  of  everyday 
indigent  existence  and  mixed  up  with  apartment  houses, 
some  of  which  are  of  such  elegance  that  they  claim 
millionaires  for  their  occupants,  while  others  are  of 
such  invitingly  low  rentals  that  they  are  inhabited  by 
empty-pocketed  Bohemians. 

For  Bohemia  is  always  empty-pocketed.  If  it  has 
money  it  spends  it  as  soon  as  possible;  if  it  has  no 
money  it  doesn't  care  much  as  long  as  it  has  a  good 
time  which  generally  ends  in  a  bad  time;  for  there 
are  more  broken  hearts  per  capita  than  in  any  other 
spot  on  God's  footstool,  in  that  ephemeral  land 
yclept  Bohemia,  and  lauded  by  poets  and  authors 
as  a  place  of  wondrous  gaiety,  lightheartedness, 
comradeship,  bonhomie  and  all  the  nobility  of 
manhood  and  womanhood.  But  its  generosity  con- 
sists usually  in  borrowing  from  a  friend,  its  com- 
radeship is  mostly  backbiting,  hatred  and  envy  of  suc- 
cess in  others,  its  nobility  consists  in  deifying  every 
irresponsible,  rash,  and  seductive  animalism.  It  revels 
in  the  lusts  of  the  flesh  and  the  excitements  of  the  sen- 
sations. Its  glory  is  of  tinsel,  its  gaiety  is  the  saddest 
upon  earth. 

It  was  in  this  realm  of  unhealthy  emotions  that 
Evelyn  Montressor  had  blossomed  from  girlhood  into 
womanhood.  It  was  from  this  she  proposed  to  escape, 
not  that  its  unreality  troubled  her  sweet  soul  greatly; 


HER  SENATOR.  53 

familiarity  had  made  it  seem  au  nature!.  It  was  ;ts  in- 
digence— its  lack  of  capital  that  displeased  her  most. 
The  shock  of  seeing  Claude  boisterous  and  roisterous 
was  as  naught  to  the  shock  of  wondering  how  she. 
would  get  a  good  dinner  to  satisfy  her  healthy  appetite, 
or  a  new  and  chic  costume  to  grace  her  delightful 
figure.  She  now  proposes  by  a  bold  stroke  to  settle 
these  questions  for  life  and  in  the  right  way. 

•f  Her  mind  being  full  of  this  idea  this  bright  May  day, 
she  answers  Von  Spitzer  quite  carelessly:  "So  glad  I 
please  you.  What  a  pity  I  didn't  please  you  on  canvas 
in  poor  Amadie's  picture.  I  believe  you  devoted  half 
a  column  in  the  morning  Pursuivant  to  giving  my 
portrait  Jits!  Don't  you  know  that  was  a  personal 
attack  upon  me?  For  Florio  has  made  that  canvas 
speak.  It  is  my  living,  breathing  image!"  And  her 
eyes  gleam  on  him  like  a  pair  of  blue  diamonds. 

"  Consequently  you're  now  giving  me  FITS!"  answers 
the  gentleman  addressed,  who  is  Franz  Heinrich  Von 
Spitzer,  art  critic  of  the  morning  paper  the  lady  has 
mentioned,  who,  being  a  foreigner,  hates  everything  in 
the  way  of  American  art — in  fact,  hates  everything 
American  save  the  American  dollar,  which  he  affects  to 
despise  also — but  does  not. 

"  I  would  like  to  give  you.  fas,  but  it  isn't  possible," 
laughs  the  lady,  sneeringly.  "You  are  already  rabid 

I  on  the  subject  of  American  art.  Still  I  suppose  I  should 
forgive  you  because  you  gave  the  picture  half  a  column 
of  venomous  platitudes.  That  shows  that  you  fear  — 
that  you  know  it  is  good 7  But  little  Amadie  Florio — 
beware  of  him,  the  long  Italian  knife  and  vendetta  a  la 
Corsica.  However,  if  you  particularly  wish  to  attack 
American  art,  here  is  just  the  thing  for  you.  Pitch 
into  my  husband's  picture,"  and  she  points  with  viva- 
cious white  hand  to  Claude's  latest  daub  on  the  easel. 
"You  can  do  that  with  a  good  deal  of  truth." 


54  HER   SENATOR. 

"Why,  I — I  rather  like  it,"  says  the  gentleman, 
looking  at  it.  "It's  of  the  Impressionist  School — a 
sunset,  I  imagine. " 

"del/  You  have  diagnosed  it  perfectly.  It  isClaude's 
attempt  at  an  ocean  storm,  but,  fortunately,  it's  upside 
down.  We'll  label  it  'Sunset,'  and  sell  it  as  such." 

"To — to  whom  ?"  stammers  the  art  critic,  stifling  a 
laugh;  "to  Steinbergh  ?" 

"Yes,  to  Steinbergh, "  giggles  Evie.  "He  said  he 
wanted  something  Jurid  to  light  up  the  Dutch  masters 
he  has  bought  at  your  recommendation. "  Then  she 
adds,  blushing  slightly:  "Why  did  you  say,  sell  it  to 
Steinbergh  ?  " 

" Because, "  answers  Von  Spitzer,  "to  be  frank,  I 
believe  you  sell  most  of  your  husband's  pictures  to 
Steinbergh.  He  has  a  collection  of  them  locked  up  in 
a  closet.  He  treasures  them  as  undeveloped  photo- 
graphic negatives  that  the  light  would  destroy. " 

"Has  Claude  sold  them?"  asks  the  lady,  feigning 
astonishment,  the  blush  growing  a  little  deeper  upon 
her  fair  cheeks;  for  Von  Spitzer  is  smiting  her  hard. 
It  is  she  who  has  sold  Claude's  pictures  to  Steinbergh. 
At  this  moment  Mr.  Montressor  is  enjoying  a  twenty- 
five  cent  cigar,  purchased  by  the  money  of  his  brush,  in 
the  presence  of  Miss  Betty  Tollemache,  and  would  be 
fearfully  disgusted  if  he  knew  that  this  quarter  is  all 
he  will  get  of  a  hundred  dollar  bill  received  for  a 
picture  painted  by  his  laborious  brush  that  but  yester- 
day had  passed  into  the  beneficent  financier's  art  col- 
lection. Then  she  adds,  attempting  a  laugh:  "Ah, 
you're  a  wonderful  man,  you  critic!  You  know  so 
much." 

"Yes,  and  shall  soon  know  more.  I'm  not  only  the 
art  feuilletonist,  but  I  am  going  to  be  the  musical 
critic  on  our  evening  edition.  You  sing  in  concerts 
again  next  winter  ?  " 


HER   SENATOR.  55 

"Yes,  but  not  in  New  York,"  answers  Evelyn. 
"Sharpen  your  pen  for  me  if  I  ever  come  to  the  Met- 
ropolitan Opera  House  or  Carnegie  Music  Hall." 

"I  believe  I  can  get  you  an  engagement  to  sing  in 
one  or  two  concerts  up  there  this  coming  season," 
returns  Mr.  Von  Spitzer,  suggestively.  "What  do 
you  think  about  it  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you  when  the  winter  arrives.  Perhaps 
I  may  have  a  cold  about  that  time.  Great  artistes 
often  do." 

"That  means  you  won't  sing." 

"  It  means  that  I  am  uncertain." 

"You  have  other  views  ?  " 

"Perhaps." 

"You  think  of  going  to  Europe  to  cultivate  your 
voice  with  the  money  obtained  from  your  husband'* 
artistic  brush?"  This  is  said  in  a  tone  of  shy  yet 
significant  sarcasm. 

"I  only  think  of  having  a  pleasant  summer  and 
keeping  cool,"  laughs  Evie,  fanning  herself  in  a  dainty 
Spanish  fashion.  Then  she  breaks  out  petulantly: 
"  What  did  you  come  here  for,  anyway  ?  You  know  I 
don't  receive  until  three  o'clock.  Gaze  at  the  apart- 
ment! Breaking  in  upon  me  before  I  have  made  the 
toilet  of  the  afternoon." 

"Oh,  you  always  look  good  enough  for  anything. 
Whoever  saw  Mrs.  Montressor  but  at  her  very  best  ?" 
answers  the  gentleman.  "However,  I  came  to  asfc 
you  if  you  wouldn't  join  a  party  at  Koster  &  Bial's  this 
evening  ?  I've  had  a  box  tendered  me  by  the  manage- 
ment since  I've  become  a  musical  critic,  and  have 
invited  Mr.  Steinbergh  and  Flora  Atherton,  and  shall 
be  pleased  if  you  and  Claude  will  join  us." 

"Ah!     Miss  Atherton's  engagement  is  over  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  her  company  closed  the  other  day." 

Mr.  Von  Spitzer  has  motioned  the  name  of  a  young 


56  HER   SENATOR. 

actress  who  has  just  been  attracting  New  York  opera 
glasses  to  her  vivacious  comedy  and  pretty  self  at 
a  metropolitan  theatre. 

"  Does  a  dinner  go  with  it?  "  queries  the  lady  eagerly. 

"Brava!  I  like  the  way  you  ask  things,  straight- 
forward and  frank;  no  beating  about  the  bush  in 
la  belle  Chica!" 

"Oh,  drop  my  nom  de  concert,  please;  Chica  is 
unknown  in  New  York.  I've  never  made  a  sensation 
in  the  metropolis.  Chica  is  for  the  West,  where  they 
imagine  I  am  a  prima  donna,  and  in  New  England, 
where  they  believe  I  am  a  graduate  of  the  Boston  Con- 
servatory. But  did  you  say  dinner  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  dinner,  but  Steinbergh  says  dinner, 
and  it's  a  good  deal  better  than  if  I  said  dinner, 
because  he'll  give  you  a  much  better  one,"  laughs  the 
young  man.  "Besides,  if  you'll  go,  I'll  retract  in 
to-morrow's  paper  all  I  said  about  Amadie's  daub 
in  to-day's." 

"  If  you  don't  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again,"  laughs 
the  lady,  "for  between  you  and  me  I'm  interested  in 
that  picture  as  a  speculation.  Amadie  and  I  divide  if 
it's  sold,  and  when  a  person  attacks  my  porte-monnaie 
without  sufficient  cause,  I  hate  him." 

"Very  well,  you'll  come  ?"  says  the  young  man. 

"With  pleasure,  if  I  can  get  hold  of  Claude,  and 
if  not — well,  I'll  come  anyway.  I  presume  you  want  a 
chaperone  for  Miss  Atherton.  They  are  so  necessary 
in  Bohemia,  especially  at  Koster  &  Bial's!" 

"Enough  said!"  answers  Von  Spitzer.  "Amadie's 
picture  to-morrow  shall  be  an  inspiration.  No  one  is 
fit  to  be  a  critic  who  cannot  write  with  sufficient  tact  to 
retract  his  words  if  the  thing  makes  a  success  with  the 
public,  and  between  ourselves  I  think  Amadie's  picture 
is  making  a  hit.  At  all  events  it  is  now  marked 
"SOLD"  at  the  Academv  " 


HER  SENATOR.  57 

"Sold! '  cries  the  lady;  then  adds  contemplatively: 
"I  wonder  how  much  he  got  for  it?"  as  though 
it  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  with  her  future ;  for 
the  problem  that  has  been  running  through  her 
beautiful  head  all  this  morning  has  been  a  financial 
one.  It  is  this :  Can  she  get  together  enough  of  filthy 
lucre  to  make  a  show  in  Washington  for  the  allurement, 
enslavement,  and  capture  of  her  senator?  She  does  not 
know  which  one  will  be  her  senator — that  she  must 
decide  later. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  her  mental  preoccupation,  she 
smiles  very  pleasantly  at  the  young  man  as  he  takes 
his  leave,  saying  merrily:  "I  would  say,  'God  go  with 
you, '  but  He  never  will  !  So  good  bye,  and  love  to 
Flossie!  " 

Her  laughter  dies  away  as  Von  Spitzer's  footsteps 
grow  faint.  Her  white  forehead  wrinkles,  her  blue 
eyes  contract  as  if  she  is  thinking  She  pulls  out  a 
little  set  of  ivory  tablets  and  goes  to  figuring  upon 
them;  then  suddenly  cries:  "I  can  do  it,  if  Amadie 
hasn't  been  a  business  fool  and  sold  my  portrait  for  a 
song!  " 

Into  this  meditation  breaks  a  wild-eyed  little  Italian, 
with  nervous  rap  and  excitable  entry.  He  whispers  to 
her  eagerly :  "I  have  sold  it !  Dio  Mio !  May  God 
forgive  me,  I  have  sold  it! " 

"I  would  never  have  forgiven  you  if  you  hadn't 
sold  it,"  remarks  the  lady;  then  says  as  nervously  as 
the  little  Italian  himself:  "Amadie,  for  how  much  did 
you  sell  it  ?  I  hope  you  valued  me  highly." 

"For  this — this  piece  of  paper,  half  of  which  is 
yours,"  and  the  Italian  tosses  a  check  into  her  lap, 
then  goes  on  excitedly:  "I  would  never  have  parted 
with  your  portrait;  your  sweet  canvas  eyes  should 
have  beamed  on  me  forever,  to  light  me  to  new  tri- 
umphs of  the  brush.  For,  cntrc  nous,  I  now  have 


58  HER   SENATOR. 

orders.  Mrs.  Wheatstuff,  of  Chicago,  wishes  her  por- 
trait painted  by  me.  Miss  Carrie  Patriarch,  of  Fifth 
avenue,  would  like  her  patrician  features  depicted  by 
me.  I  now  stroke  my  mustache  and  look  at  the  critics 
with  scorn,  especially  that  Von  Spitzer,  the  German 
sausage  beast.  Did  you  read  his  article?"  hisses  the 
little  fellow,  rolling  his  dark  Italian  eyes  in  a  kind  of 
horror.  ' '  Corpo  di  Baccho !  Did  you  see  what  the 
barbaro  said  of  you?  " 

"Yes,"  murmurs  the  lady,  who  is  examining  the 
piece  of  paper  he  has  given  her  quite  eagerly.  "  I 
noted  that  Von  Spitzer  hinted  if  you  had  done  justice 
to  me  your  picture  would  have  been  a  triumph. "  Then 
she  suddenly  cries:  "  It  is  for  a  thousand  dollars — oh, 
Florio,  a  thousand  dollars,  you  dear  little  genius!" 
next  mutters,  commercial  instinct  dominating  her: 
"I  wonder  if  the  check  is  good.  I  don't  know  the 
name." 

"Not  know  the  name?"  cries  Amadie  Florio. 
"  Can't  you  read  it  ?  It  is  //  Signor  James  B.  Guernsey, 
the  United  States  Senator  just  elected  from  Populoso, 
the  new  State. " 

"Populoso!"  laughs  the  lady.  "Yes,  I've  heard  it 
is  a  melange  of  a  cattle  ranch  and  mining  camp." 
Then  she  suddenly  adds:  "The  name  does  seem  famil- 
iar to  me.  Where  have  I  heard  it  ?  Guernsey " 

Suddenly  over  her  mobile  features  comes  a  flash 
that  lights  up  her  blue  eyes  with  a  ray  that  is  brilliant 
but  not  benign.  "Guernsey!"  she  murmurs.  "Get 
the  check  cashed,  Amadie,  bring  me  the  money — 
Guernsey!"  Her  face  grows  pale  and  drawn  as  she 
suggests:  "Could  you  find  out  more  about  him?  I 
would  like  to  know  the  history  of  this  man  Guernsey. 
Couldn't  you  borrow  at  the  bookstore  around  the  cor- 
ner the  Lives  of  Self-Made  Americans  ?  Perchance  I 
may  learn  of  him  there." 


HER   SENATOR.  59 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  you?"  remarks 
Amadie.  "He  is  a  United  States  Senator;  of  course 
his  check  is  good.  Besides,  I  have  heard  people  say 
he  is  worth  a  million.  That  Populoso  may  not  be 
much  of  a  State,  but  he  owns  the  most  of  it." 

''Nevertheless,  Amadie,  do  my  errand  for  me. 
Bring  me  the  book  ;  you  always  do  what  I  ask  you." 

"  Sapristi !  I  will  now,  only  promise  me  to  sit  for 
another  portrait.  This  time  an  ideal  one." 

"Oh,  yes;  anything  you  like.  Get  me  the  book," 
answers  the  lady,  as  if  anxious  to  be  alone. 

And  the  little  Italian  runs  away  upon  his  errand. 

"Do  I  know  this  Guernsey  ?"  she  mutters  to  her- 
self. "Is  he — no,  that  is  impossible.  The  name  of 
the  man  was  Overhand  Guernsey — the  man  who  robbed 
me  of  papa's  last  letter  which  said  we  were  rich — who 
gave  my  poor  little  sister  and  me  for  our  heritage, 
hunger  and  stripes — who  placed  me  at  the  mercy 
of  that  cruel  ruffian! — Yes,  I  remember  Guernsey! 
By  the  memory  of  my  sister  I  have  not  forgotten 
him,"  she  goes  on  muttering  hoarsely.  "  The  sister  I 
shall  never  see  again,  who  has  gone  Heaven  knows 
where — dead — lost ;  for  when  I  returned  to  that  place 
Mawley  had  met  his  deserts  and  was  in  prison  and 
there  was  no  more  Shepherd's  Fold.  There  was  noth- 
ing left  of  it  only  the  broken  hearts  it  had  made." 
Then  she  jeers  herself:  "What  nonsense!  forme  to 
think  the  man  who  purchased  my  picture  is  any  relative 
to  the  Wall  Street  broker.  He  is  probably  some  great, 
good-natured  western  giant  with  a  heart  big  enough 
for  the  whole  world  and — one  woman?  Perhaps  he  is 
my  senator !  "  and  ends  the  whole  thing  with  a  prolonged 
and  melodious  whistle. 

This  rhapsody  is  broken  in  upon  by  the  return  of 
Amadie  bearing  a  large  volume  inscribed  upon  the 
back:  ''America's  Intellectual  Giants.  G — J." 


60  HER   SENATOR. 

Into  this  book,  at  the  letter  "G,"  she  dives  with 
vivacious  eagerness,  finding  the  names  of  self-made 
soap  men,  ambitious  leather  dealers,  and  millionaire 
stove  polish  manufacturers,  mixed  up  with  a  few  of  the 
really  representative  men  of  the  country.  For  it  is  a 
book  that  has  been  published  by  subscription,  and  any 
intellectual  giant  who  will  subscribe  fifty  dollars  is  no- 
ticed in  it,  and  if  he  pays  one  hundred  dollars  more 
the  portrait  of  his  intellectual  face  adorns  the  page  as 
well.  In  this  book  she  finds  the  name  of  Guernsey, 
Overhand ;  beside  it  is  a  face  that  makes  her  start  and 
gasp:  "  The  face  of  the  past!  " 

She  hurriedly  reads  the  notice. 

"Once  a  financial  magnate  of  Wall  Street,  now 
removed  to  and  living  in  Silveropolis,  the  capital  of 
Populoso,  soon  to  be  admitted  to  the  Union.  This 
coming  State  owes  a  great  deal  to  the  extraordinary 
financial  and  executive  ability  of  the  gentleman  whose 
portrait  we  print." 

She  runs  over  his  life,  and  it  mentions  that  one  son  is 
born  to  him  and  survives  him — James  Bertram — now 
one  of  the  leading  men  of  Populoso,  a  candidate  for 
the  United  States  Senate  from  that  territory  as  soon 
as  it  shall  become  a  State. 

"Survives  him!  How  I  have  hoped  he  lived,"  she 
mutters.  "The  dead  are  safe  from  the  living." 

Then  she  questions  the  little  Italian  eagerly:  "This 
gentleman,  this  United  States  Senator,  how  did  he 
chance  to  purchase  your  picture?" 

"Ah,  that  was  very  curious,"  answers  Amadie. 
"He  seemed  impressed  by  the  beauty  of,  the  paint- 
ing, still  I  think  he  would  not  have  bought  it,  but  for 
the  young  lady  who  was  with  him." 

"His  wife?" 

"I  think  not;  I  imagine  she  is  his  sister  from  their 
conversation.  But  it  was  at  her  request  that  he 


HER  SENATOR.  6l 

bought  the  portrait.  She  talked  with  the  Doctor — I 
believe  he  is  a  medical  man  professionally — eagerly  for 
some  time.  I  don't  know  what  their  conversation 
was,  I  only  caught  these  words:  'Buy,  it  to  please 
me! ' " 

"Ah,  then  he  did  not  care  for  it." 

1 '  On  the  contrary  he  had  admired  it  greatly.  He 
said  the  woman  who  had  sat  for  it  must  be  striking  as 
the  Goddess  of  Liberty  on  a  new  silver  dollar." 

"And  so  I  presume  my  features  will  grace  his 
palatial  log  cabin  in  the  West,"  sneers  Evie,  forcing  her- 
self to  merriment,  but  all  this  time  her  brain  is  buzzing 
with  a  sudden,  yet  awful  inspiration.  "Leave  the 
book,  Amadie,"  she  murmurs,  "I'll  see  that  it  is 
returned.  Go  and  get  your  money  and  my  money." 

"You  will  sit  for  me  once  more?"  pleads  the  little 
Italian.  "I  wish  to  make  an  ideal  picture  this  time." 

"Of  course!  But  as  what  will  you  paint  me?"  she 
queries  impatiently,  anxious  to  be  alone. 

"As  the  Goddess  of  Revenge!"  answers  the  little 
Italian,  who  has  been  studying  her  fitful  moods. 

"The  Goddess  of  Revenge!  Do  you  think  I  could 
pose  for  that  role?" 

Here  Amadie  shocks  her;  he  says  impressively! 
"You  could  when  you  looked  at  the  face  in  that  book, 
bella  mia!  But  I  will  arrange  for  the  sittings,  for 
time  is  precious  to  me  now,  more  than  ever."  So  he 
goes  away,  leaving  her  pondering  upon  his  words. 

"Did  I  look  like  that  ?"  she  thinks  to  herself;  then 
ejaculates,  "Yes,  I  did!"  and  looks  it  again.  And 
reading  over  the  book  she  mutters:  "The  son — the 
son  of  the  father.  Why  not  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generation?"  next  mutters  intensely:  "As 
his  father  built  up  his  fortune  upon  the  ruin  of  me  and 
mine,  so  will  I  build  up  my  fortune  on  the  ruin  of  him 
*nd  his,"  And  gazing  at  a  mirror  that  reflects  all  her 


6a  HER  SENATOR. 

seductive  loveliness  she  murmurs:  "I  will  be  his 
Cleopatra ! " 

Two  hours  later  Claude,  striding  in,  finds  his  wife 
looking  a  picture  of  excited  beauty.  She  is  already 
dressed  for  the  evening  and  cries:  "  Run  along  quick, 
you  lazy  fellow,  and  get  on  your  dinner  togs.  Mr. 
Steinbergh  has  invited  us. " 

"That  means  a  champagne  spread,"  returns  her 
husband,  eagerly.  "But  why  are  you  so  to  the  good 
this  evening,  Evie  ?  " 

"Congratulate  me,  dear  boy,"  she  answers  effu- 
sively, with  a  slight,  nervous  laugh;  then  utters  these 
curious  words:  "  I  HAVE  FOUND  MY  SENATOR!  " 

To  this  her  spouse  returns  snarlingly:  "God  help 
him!" 


HER  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   NIGHT    AT   KOSTER  ft    BIAI/S. 

THIRTY  minutes  afterwards,  Evelyn  Montressor  ar- 
rayed in  as  breezy  and  fetching  a  Parisian  toilet  as  can 
be  purchased  on  credit  in  New  York,  perfect  as  to  boots 
and  gloves,  a  dainty  little  Parisian  bonnet  perched 
upon  her  head,  and  bearing  in  her  hand  a  white  mass  of 
fluffy  lace  she  calls  a  parasol,  steps  down  from  her 
apartment  and  is  landed  into  a  carriage  by  Claude, 
who  in  evening  dress  looks  very  English  and  very 
"  chappie,"  a  prospect  of  a  dinner  always  brightening 
his  artistic  nature. 

"Tell  the  driver  McGowan's  Pass  Tavern.  We'll 
dine  coolly  amid  green  trees  if  we  roast  afterward  at 
Koster  &  Bial's,"  remarks  the  lady  to  her  husband. 

So  they  drive  out  of  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  city 
into  the  beautiful  breathing  spot  for  pent  up  New  York 
yclept  Central  Park.  Here  they  find  green  trees  and  a 
pleasant  breeze  awaiting  them,  and  rolling  up  the  East 
Drive  mingle  with  the  turnouts  of  those  who  have  es- 
caped from  hot  pavements  to  suggestions  of  the  coun- 
try, very  well  contented  with  themselves — at  least 
Claude  is — though  the  lady  once  or  twice  knits  her 
pretty  brows  and  pensively  taps  with  parasol  a  dainty 
boot  that  peeps  from  under  her  white  dress. 

"What are  you  thinking  of  Evie  ?"  he  asks,  noting 
her  abstraction.  - 

11  Your  she  answers,  and  the  blue  eyes  look  roguishly 
into  his. 

"And  what  about  me?" 

"Aprcsl"  And  she  falls  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter  which  is  so  contagious  that  he  joins  in  it; 


64  HER   SENATOR. 

though  Claude's  laugh  would  probably  be  on  the 
other  side  of  his  mustache  did  he  know  the  erratic  and 
peculiar  project  that  is  in  this  lady's  vivacious  brain  in 
regard  to  him.  "Tell  you  all  in  a  few  days,  dear 
boy,"  she  says.  "  Meantime  enjoy  yourself.  Did  you 
have  a  naughty,  pleasant  visit  to  Betty  Tolle- 
mache  ?" 

Whereupon  the  gentleman  growls:  "Why  do  you 
always  throw  up  that  Tollemache  tome?"  Then  he 
scowls  and  mutters:  "Is  it  your  excuse  for  Stein- 
bergh?" 

"Not  at  all;  Mr.  Steinbergh  doesn't  require  any, 
unless  a  man  needs  it  for  having  a  good  heart  and 
being  kind  to  us  poor,  struggling  Bohemians.  I  only 
mentioned  the  lady  to  show  that  I  know  all  about 
you,  my  Claude,  and  to  prevent  any  of  your  usual  vir- 
tuous outbursts  when  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do 
for  you." 

At  this  the  lady  goes  to  laughing  again.  This 
makes  Claude  look  glum  and  solemn,  for  generally  her 
amusement  is  at  his  expense. 

"If  you  mean  to  throw  my  peccadillos  at  me, 
Madame,  to  operate  as  an  excuse  for  any  levity  upon 
your  part,  you'll  find  you  have  a  devilish  hard  cus- 
tomer to  deal  with,  "he  says,  attempting  a  ferocious 
dignity  and  pulling  his  mustache  savagely. 

"Do  you  know  I  like  you  in  your  heroics?  "  answers 
the  lady,  smiling  at  him.  ' '  When  I  was  susceptible  and 
foolish  and  first  saw  you,  I  thought  that  those  great 
blue  eyes  of  yours  were  so  frank,  and  that  lion-like 
expression,  the  one  you've  got  upon  your  brow  at 
present  proved  you  to  be  the  noblest  of  beasts — but 
now — you  amuse  me.  That  is  all,  my  Claude ;  there- 
fore, I  smile  at  thy  heroics  and  thy  lion-like  attitude 
and  haughty  mien,  mon  petit.  But  why  should  we  quar- 
rel when  dinner  is  so  near  us  ?  Look  pleasant,  cham- 


HER   SENATOR.  6$ 

pagne  is  not  far  off;  that  generally  makes  you  good 
tempered  when  you  don't  get  too  much  of  it." 

"Yes,  Steinbergh  always  does  the  right  thing  in 
regard  to  dinners,"  answers  the  gentleman,  "and  then 
I  know,  Evie,  your  bark  is  much  worse  than  your  bite." 

"  Not  when  dinner  is  so  near  me,"  answers  Evie,  as 
they  turn  from  the  main  drive  and  go  up  the  little 
ascent  that  leads  under  the  forte  cochlrc  of  McGowan's 
Pass  Tavern,  a  romantic-looking  restaurant  with  a  ple- 
beian name,  a  spot  of  beauty,  the  only  thing  ugly  about 
it  being  its  cognomen. 

"  I  wonder  why  they  didn't  give  this  pretty  place  a 
charming  title  like  the  Madrid  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
or  La  Cascade  ?  "  remarks  Evie,  as  she  gazes  upon  the 
McGowan  sign. 

"  Aldermen !"  answers  her  spouse  sententiously  as 
he  assists  her  out. 

In  truth  the  place  justifies  her  adjective !  The  broad 
veranda  of  the  villa-like  edifice  is  filled  with  women  in 
the  light  beautiful  costumes  of  spring  which  soften 
the  masculine  attire  that  is  mingled  with  them.  Beside 
it,  along  the  main  driveway  of  Central  Park,  roll 
equipages  and  turnouts  innumerable.  Everything 
from  the  four-in-hand  of  a  member  of  the  Coaching 
Club  who  is  beginning  to  think  of  his  summer  eyrie  at 
Newport,  to  the  light  trotting  buggy  of  the  sporty 
stockbrocker,  fly  past,  all  handsomely  horsed  and  gayly 
comparisoned.  Upon  the  road  is  the  rattle  of  wheels 
and  patter  of  horses'  hoofs.  Upon  the  veranda  the 
buzz  of  laughter  and  conversation  from  merry  voices 
mingle  with  the  popping  of  champagne  corks,  the  click 
of  glasses,  and  the  clash  of  tuneful  knife  and  fork,  as 
agile  waiters  fly  about. 

Around  this  house  filled  with  the  hungry  and  thirsty, 
are  green  grass,  beautiful  flowers,  and  the  exquisite 
foliage  of  endless  trees  and  shrubs,  made  musical  by 


66  HER  SENAtOft. 

the  songs  of  the  birds,  in  their  branches,  inspired  by 
the  strains  of  a  petit  orchestra,  on  the  portico,  that  is 
playing  one  of  the  brightest  melodies  of  Strauss. 

Contrasted  with  the  heated  city,  the  place  is  refresh- 
ing, inspiring,  charming,  and  Evelyn,  under  its  influ- 
ence, is  very  bright  and  smiling  as  she  steps  forward  to 
meet  Mr.  Steinbergh  of  the  Gelatine  Trust,  who  comes 
to  greet  her. 

' '  I've  had  a  table  set  apart  for  us,"  remarks  the 
millionaire,  who  is  a  man  of  pleasant  face,  suave  man- 
ner and  figure  that  is  approaching  dangerously  near  to 
rotundity.  In  a  few  years  Mr.  Steinbergh  will  find 
himself  obese ;  at  present  he  is  but  a  little  over  forty 
and  still  prides  himself  upon  his  form,  which  is  well 
set  off  by  clothes  by  one  of  the  best  tailors  in  New 
York,  and  linen  as  snowy  as  the  tops  of  the  Andes. 
He  wears  but  little  jewelry;  a  single  ruby  ring,  whose 
perfect  stone  is  tinted  with  the  finest  pigeon  blood, 
being  his  only  article  of  adornment,  save  a  single  pearl 
stud  in  his  expansive  shirt  front.  A  pair  of  gold  rim- 
med eye-glasses  give  a  rather  searching  expression  to 
eyes  that  otherwise  might  be  too  soft.  The  gentleman 
has  an  expansive,  even  an  intellectual,  forehead  and  a 
mouth  that,  when  it  addresses  a  woman,  is  soft  and 
winning,  but  when  discussing  discounts,  interest  and 
finance,  is  firmness  itself.  Altogether  Mr.  Steinbergh 
looks  a  Teuton  and  a  banker. 

"I  have  had  seats  placed  for  six,"  he  murmurs  as  he 
leads  Evie  toward  a  table  which  has  been  beautified 
by  a  centerpiece  of  pretty  flowers  and  three  exquisite 
corsage  bouquets. 

"Six?  There  will  be  only  five  of  us — Miss  Ather- 
ton,  Mr.  Von  Spitzer,  you  and  I  and  Claude." 

"  I  have  brought  another  young  lady  here  for 
Claude,"  whispers  tK*»  B 

"Who?" 


HER   SENATOR.  67 

"One  that  I  imagine  will  please  him,"  laughs  Mr. 
Steinbergh;  "Miss  Atherton's  understudy,  Betty 
Tollemache." 

"What!"  gasps  Evie,  with  such  an  expression  on 
her  face  that  her  host  says  hurriedly : 

"  Why,  you  are  astonished !  Your  husband  suggested 
the  lady  himself.  I — I  supposed  she  was  a  friend  of 
yours." 

"So  Claude  knew  of  this  dinner  before  this  after- 
noon ? " 

"Yes;  I  asked  him  yesterday.  He — he  suggested 
Miss  Tollemache.  Didn't  he  tell  you  about  it  ? " 

Whereupon  Evie  gives  the  gentleman  spoken  of  a 
look  that  might  even  cause  him,  hardened  sinner  as  he 
is,  trepidation  did  he  but  see  it,  and  murmurs  to  her- 
self: "This  destroys  my  last  pity  for  him." 

"Ah,  I  believe  the  rest  of  the  party  are  coming," 
remarks  Mr.  Steinbergh,  and  steps  forward  to  greet 
them,  giving  her  chance  of  speech  with  Claude,  who 
looks  surlily  at  her  and  mutters: 

"  I  took  you  at  your  word.  You  said  I  could  go  my 
way.  I'm  doing  it." 

"Precisely.  But  still  I  think  good  taste  would  have 
suggested  to  you  the  fact  that  though  the  sight  of  this 
young  lady  may  be  very  pleasant  to  you,  it  is  not  so 
agreeable  to  me.  I  admire  the  exquisite  delicacy  of 
your  artistic  soul,  if  you  have  any,  dear  boy.  How- 
ever, I  shall  now  have  an  opportunity  of  judging 
whether  your  taste  has  improved  since  you  first  saw 
me." 

Then  she  steps  forward  and  greets  Flora  Atherton, 
who  is  a  girl  of  lithe  figure  and  expressive  face, 
though  there  is  a  tinge  of  sadness  upon  it  curious  in 
the  features  of  a  comedienne.  For  her  great  potency 
upon  the  stage  is  that  she  says  funny  lines  very  sadly 
and  plays  ingenues  in  a  shuddering,  timid,  trembling 


68  HER   SENATOR. 

style  that  sets  an  audience  wild  at  her  bashful  naivett 

"I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Montressor," 
says  the  actress.  "I  have  felt  as  if  I  knew  you  ever 
since  Von  Spitzer  an  hour  ago  told  me  you  had  sent 
me  your  love." 

"Yes,  I  had  to  give  Von  Spitzer  something  to  carry 
away  with  him,  and  I  had  nothing  else  of  value,  so  I 
let  him  carry  my  love  to  you  with  him." 

"Von  Spitzer,"  laughs  Flora  sadly,  "told  me  you 
had  given  him  your  love  to  bring  to  me,  but  he  had 
concluded  to  keep  it  for  himself  and  present  me  with 
his  own  instead. " 

"Yes,  Von  Spitzer  is  always  generous  with  love," 
remarks  Steinbergh. 

"I've  got  nothing  else  to  be  liberal  with,"  mutters 
the  critic.  "If  I  had  your  pocketbook,  my  capitalist, 
I  would  probably  receive  more  love  and  give  away 
more  money.  But  permit  me,  Mrs.  Montressor,  to 
introduce  to  you  Miss  Betty  Tollemache.  I  believe 
she  knows  everyone  here  but  you." 

"I've  often  heard  my  husband  speak  of  you," 
remarks  Evelyn,  greeting  the  young  lady,  who  is 
standing  by  Mr.  Steinbergh's  side. 

"I  can  return  the  compliment,  for  I've  often  heard 
your  husband  speak  of  you"  says  Miss  Betty  with  a 
little  giggle  and  veiled  glance  towards  Claude. 

Then  the  party  sit  down,  Steinbergh  doing  the 
honors  with  Evie  at  his  right  hand;  and  the  dinner 
begins  and  goes  along  as  most  dinners  do,  that  have 
been  prepared  by  an  excellent  chef,  and  are  served  by 
expert  waiters,  enlivened  by  generous  wine,  made 
vivacious  by  wit,  and  charming  by  the  presence  of 
beautiful  women.  For  Miss  Tollemache  is  a  very 
pretty  girl,  though  of  the  laundried  order,  that  at 
thirty  will  be  passt,  and  at  forty  will  look  like  the 
manicure's  ghost.  At  present  she  has  red  cheeks, 


HER   SENATOR.  69 

bright  eyes,  white  teeth,  and  incessant  giggled  Every- 
thing she  says  commences  with  a  titter  and  ends  with 
an  "he-he."  The  titters  are  louder  and  the  "he-he's'' 
more  continuous  as  the  champagne  is  passed  tbe 
second  time. 

"What  are  you  always  he-heing  for,  Betty?"  lan- 
guidly questions  Miss  Atherton,  who  thinks  she  can  be 
severe  with  her  understudy.  "Are  you  always  think- 
ing  of  men?  And  which  'he-he*  are  you  thinking 
about  at  present?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  you  funny  girl!  You  say  such 
wicked,  wicked  things  so  sadly.  I  was  thinking  of  all 
the  gentlemen  present — he! — he! — he!"  punctuating 
each  giggle  with  a  stab  of  eyes  and  point  of  finger  at 
each  of  the  manly  trio  in  succession. 

"Never  sacrifice  grammar  to  a  joke,"  says  Von 
Spitzer,  sternly.  "You  should  have  said,  'Him! — 
him! — him!'  " 

"  Your  etiquette,  Mr.  Precise,  is  worse  than  Miss 
Betty's  syntax;  criticising  a  lady's  compliment!"  inter- 
jects Steinbergh,  gallantly. 

"He!  be!  he!"  giggles  La  Tollemache  again. 

"You  don't  respond,  Montressor,  to  the  lady  whose 
every  laugh  is  a  flattery  to  our  sex, "murmurs  the  host, 
with  suggestive  glance. 

"No,  I'm  not  good  at  repartee,"  answers  Claude. 
"At  dinner  I  devote  myself  to  cutting  my  meat.  I 
shall  never  get  another  chance  at  this  meal  again,  or 
this  wine  either,"  and  he  tosses  off  a  bumper.  "Wit 
comes  with  my  coffee  and  cigars.  At  present  I  am  as 
happy  as  an  artist  can  be  who  hasn't  sold  a  picture  for 
a  year." 

At  this,  Von  Spitzer  looks  wise,  and  Mr.  Steinbergh 
has  a  conscious  blush  upon  his  face. 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  many  of  them  around  your  rooms," 
remarks  the  art  critic. 


7o 


HER  SENATOR. 


"Oh,  they're  stowed  away,"  replies  Clau«^;,  non- 
chalantly, attacking  a  squab  that  is  in  front  of  him. 

At  this,  a  crumb  goes  the  wrong  way  in  Evie's  pretty 
throat,  and  she  is  compelled  to  stifle  a  shriek  of  laughter 
with  her  handkerchief. 

Just  here  the  conversation  is  interrupted  by  Mr. 
Steinbergh  rising  suddenly  and  saying:  "I  see  on  the 
veranda  a  gentleman  to  whom  I  wish  to  speak.  Will 
you  excuse  me  a  few  minutes  ?  It  is  a  matter  of  some 
importance  to  me." 

And  he  follows  a  party  who  had  just  passed  them, 
the  leader  of  which  has  bowed  to  him. 

Gazing  after  him  carelessly,  Evelyn  notes  that  he 
addresses  a  gentleman  and  a  young  lady  who  are  just 
about  entering  a  carriage  to  drive  away. 

A  minute  after  the  financier  returns.  "You'll  par- 
don me,"  he  remarks,  "but  it  is  a  gentleman  whom  I 
have  just  met,  who  is  a  stranger  in  New  York,  and  one 
I  shall  perhaps  see  during  the  winter  in  Washington. 
He  is  the  senator-elect  from  Populoso." 

"Doctor  Guernsey?"  ejaculates  Evelyn,  suppressing, 
by  an  effort,  a  little  startled  cry. 

"Yes,  you  know  him?" 

"Oh,  no,  but  I  have  of  course  read  his  name.  Be- 
sides, he  is  the  gentleman  who  has  purchased  my  por- 
trait that  Amadie  painted." 

"Ah,  then  you  should  meet.  If  he  admired  the 
likeness  what  effect  would  the  original  produce  upon 
him  ?" 

"Or  his  wife  ;  he!  he!  he!"  giggles  La  Tolle- 
mache. 

"She's  a  pretty,  brown-haired  young  thing.  I 
lorgnetted  her  as  she  passed  by,"  remarks  Miss 
Atherton.  Then  she  adds  sadly:  "I  always  pity  the 
wives  of  celebrities.  They  have  the  bone  so  many 
othei  women  long  for«" 


HER  SENATOR.  71 

"That  doesn't  apply  in  this  case.  The  senator 
is  not  married.  The  lady  with  him  is,  I  believe,  his 
sister, "  says  the  host,  as  coffee  and  cigars  make  their 
appearance,  and  the  gentlemen  go  to  smoking  at  this 
open  air,  free  and  easy  dinner. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Von  Spitzer,  who  is  ambitious 
to  do  his  share  of  the  hospitality  with  his  compliment- 
ary box,  suggests  Koster  &  Bial's,  and  they  drive 
down  in  the  early  evening  through  Central  Park  and 
along  Fifth  Avenue  to  Thirty-fourth  Street,  where  that 
home  of  vaudeville  is  at  this  time  in  full  and  triumph- 
ant blast. 

Von  Spitzer's  box  is  pleasantly  located,  number  two 
from  the  proscenium  arch  on  the  second  tier.  The  one 
between  it  and  the  stage  is  occupied  by  three  or  four 
Western  gentlemen,  who  are  escorting  three  or  four 
ladies  of  somewhat  shady  reputation  and  great  beauty, 
vivacity  and  elan^  especially  when  inspired  by  cham- 
pagne, which  is  apparently  served  every  moment  by  a 
fly-about  German  waiter.  As  the  performance  pro- 
ceeds the  voices  of  these  gentlemen  grow  louder  and 
are  easily  audible  in  the  Steinbergh  loge. 

The  house  is  full,  boxes  and  all,  of  the  usual  con- 
glomerate audience  that  assembles  at  this  house  of 
entertainment — men  about  town,  girls  about  town, 
actors,  musicians,  and  the  general  public,  including  a 
few  society  ladies  who  sit  in  retired  nooks  of  their 
boxes,  permitting  their  escorts  to  occupy  the  front  and 
conspicuous  places,  and  enjoy  the  performance,  which 
is  a  very  good  one  in  its  way. 

"The  bill  is  a  fine  one  to-night,"  remarks  Von 
Spitzer,  looking  over  the  programme.  "  Miss  Vesta 
Empire  is  going  to  sing  '  Daddy  Will  Not  Buy  Me  a 
Bow- Wow,'  and  the  orchestra  are  to  accompany  hei 
with  the  barks  and  growls  of  dogs.  Rather  a  new  idea 
arid  beastly  degrading  to  the  musicians.  It  would  not 


fa  HER   SENATOR. 

surprise  me  if  the  orchestra  struck.  Blowenheim,  the 
conductor,  declares  that  if  it  were  winter  and  the  Met- 
ropolitan were  open,  they  would,  but  during  the  sum- 
mer engagements  are  scarce.  Ah,  he  sees  me!  He 
will  probably  come  up,  and  his  woes  will  amuse  you 
during  the  intermission." 

Evie  has  no  ears  for  this.  The  conversation  of  the 
Western  gentlemen  in  the  box  next  to  hers  is  exciting 
her  interest  and  attention. 

"It  was  the  slickest  election  I  ever  seed,"  remarks 
one  of  them.  "  Doc  Guernsey  went  through  that  legis- 
lature like  four-year-old  whisky!  It  was  a  he  old 
fight,  and  we  never  used  a  single  cent  to  bribe  'em." 

"And  your  man  from  Populoso  got  elected  and 
didn't  spend  a  cent?  "  I'll  believe  that,"  says  the 
other,  when  these  fairies  here  " — he  indicates  the  ladies 
in  their  box — "  refuse  wine!" 

"Which  they  won't  do  while  you  have  a  bill  in 
your  pocket,"  laughs  one  of  the  fair  ones  addressed. 
"  Waiter,  another  bottle !  Fizz  !  —  scoot  —  bang  ! 
A-a-ah!" 

"Yes,"  repeats  the  first  speaker,  "  we  did  it  without 
a  red  cent.  You  see,  Guernsey  and  his  crowd  control 
the  Stock  Exchange  out  there.  I  handled  the  matter 
—did  the  patriotic — told  our  party  in  the  Legislature 
that  we  wouldn't  buy  'em ;  that  it  was  against  our  prin- 
ciples to  buy  anything,  but  that  we  would  give  'em  a 
hint  that  would  permit  'em  to  make  a  good  deal  more 
money  than  they  could  get  any  other  way,  and  that 
was  to  buy  Onyx  mining  stock  at  a  hundred  dollars  a 
share ;  we  would  fix  it  with  the  brokers  so  they  would 
carry  it  for  them — '  buyer  30.'  They  jumped  us,  and 
we  fixed  each  one  of  'em  by  a  hundred  shares  of  stock 
— '  Buyer  30 ' — then  we  hoisted  the  stock  up  to  three 
hundred  dollars." 

"How  grateful  they  were  to  us.     Twenty  thousand 


HER  SENATOR.  73 

dollars  apiece  on  paper.  Onyx  was  320  bid,  and  they 
were  so  happy — all  except  Bullem,  who  had  insisted  up- 
on cash,  so  we  had  given  Bullem  eighteen  hundred.  So 
nt  four  they  caucussed  and  nominated  Guernsey,  and  at 
eleven  that  night  they  elected  him,  and  every  one  of 
the  critters  held  on  to  his  stock.  At  twelve  at  night 
we  got  Bullem  drunk  and  abstracted  his  eighteen  hun- 
dred, and  he  hasn't  dared  to  tell  any  one  about  it.  And 
the  next  morning,  at  the  opening  of  the  Board,  Onyx 
fell  to  ninety  dollars  first  sale,  and  now  the  Legislature 
are  hunting  Board  '  Buyer  30.'  I  reckon  when  Guern- 
sey wants  a  reelection  he'll  have  to  make  it  a  cash 
transaction."* 

"Well,  if  I  know  Bob  Bullem,  he  may  make  trouble 
about  that.  He's  not  a  man  to  stand  by  and  see  eight- 
een hundred  dollars  go  out  of  his  pocket  without  let- 
ting some  one  know  it.  Has  Guernsey  any  idea  of 
the  cash  transaction?" 

**  Not  a  word.  Guernsey  is  a  man  of  the  strictest 
probity  and  the  highest  honor.  He  absolutely  refused 
to  put  up  a  cent.  The  eighteen  hundred  was  advanced 
to  Bullem  by  a  man  who  intended  to  get  it  away  from 
him  as  soon  as  the  election  was  over.  Guernsey,  how- 
ever, remarked  that  he  did  not  object  to  the  legisla- 
ture speculating  if  they  were  cute  enough  to  make 
money  by  it.  You  see,  Guernsey  is  a  man  of  Yale 
training,  mellowed  and  expanded  by  Western  life. 
Gee  Wiz !  look  at  that  girl  on  the  stage,  ain't  she  a  per- 
simmon? Wouldn't  she  get  the  silver  dollars  thrown 
on  the  stage  to  her  out  in  our  camp  ?  Here's  some  of 
mine,  sissy,"  and  the  Westerner  dives  his  hand  into  his 
pocket  and  a  silver  shower  descends  upon  the  young 

*  For  further  details  of  thii  peculiar  manner  of  effecting  a 
senatorial  election  read  the  editorials  of  the  Carson  City, 
Nevada,  newspapers  after  the  extraordinary  fall  in  Ophir  on 
the  San  Franciico  Stock  Board  in  1876.— THE  EDITOR. 


74  HER  SENATOR. 

lady  who  is  singing  "Daddy  Will  Not  Buy  Me  a  Bow- 
Wow,"  the  orchestra  growling  and  barking  in  a  most 
savage  German  manner,  as  they  play  the  accompani- 
ment to  the  chorus. 

Then  intermission  comes  mingled  with  the  strains 
of  the  Hungarian  band  upstairs,  and  the  leader  of  the 
orchestra  flies  excitedly  up  to  tell  his  woes  to  Von 
Spitzer,  the  critic. 

Too  excited  to  think  of  anybody  else  in  the 
box,  Herr  Blowenheim  wipes  the  perspiration  from 
a  high,  romantic  German  brow,  and  ejaculates  : 
"  Gott  in  Himmcl!  Did  you  see  zat  outrage?  My 
orchestra  required  to  growl  and  bark  like  bow- 
wows, and  doing  it!  I  myself  had  to  imitate  a  Siberian 
wolf  hound.  But  it  ees  ze  last!  I  will  stand  no 
more!  My  orchestra  has  been  required  to  make  them- 
selves jokes  for  comedians,  to  answer  stupid  questions 
put  to  zem  from  the  stage,  to  cheer,  to  applaud,  to 
dodge  ze  conjurer  when  he  pretends  to  let  ze  cannon 
ball  fall  on  zem,  to  permit  the  ventriloquist  to  squeeze 
his  accursed  manikin  and  squirt  water  all  over  zem ! 
Spilled  at  by  a  lay  figure  !  And  we  are  musicians — we 
who  can  play  Wagner  at  sight!  What  haf  we  come 
to?" 

"Five  dollars  a  night,  I  imagine,"  laughs  Von  Spit- 
zer. "  That's  the  price,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"But  I  must  be  going.  Ladies,  I  drinks  your 
healths,"  replies  the  German  musician.  "  Frauleins, 
I  know  your  beautiful  eyes  look  in  pity  on  my  poor 
orchestra  and  me.  In  the  next  act  a  young  lady  music 
hall  singer  will  come,  and  will  stand  over  the  footlights 
and  will  make  loaf  to  me  in  her  brassy,  London  way, 
until  I  blush  mid  shame  as  I  tink  of  my  poor  wife  at 
home,  and  yet  I  will  have  to  pretend  to  be  coy  and 
look  at  her  as  if  I  loafed  her,  and  say,  'Ah,  there!' 
and  '  Oh,  my! '  and  '  You're  as  pretty  as  a  picshure! ' 


HER  SENATOR.  75 

and  '  I  would  like  to  kees  you ! '  which  always  makes 
the  house  scream  with  laughter — though,  Mein  Gott ! 
I  am  an  artist  and  this  is  summer! " 

With  this,  Herr  Blowenheim  flies  away  to  his  dismal 
duties,  muttering  to  himself,  "  Sumer  day  zer  will  be 
a  discord ! " 

But  Evie  heeds  not  this.  She  is  listening  to  the 
conversation  of  the  two  gentlemen  in  the  next  box, 
which  has  grown  low  and  confidential,  but  as  it  is 
right  at  her  ear  she  does  not  miss  it.  They  are  unin- 
terrupted in  their  conclave,  as  the  ladies  in  their  party 
are  devoting  themselves  at  present  entirely  to  the 
champagne,  which  is  still  flowing  with  steady  pop  and 
gurgle. 

"You  say  Bullem  is  going  to  make  trouble  about 
that  matter  ?  Why  doesn't  Guernsey  shut  him  off  ?  " 

"He  won't!  He  says  it's  against  his  principles. 
He  never  gave  a  cent  to  bribe  a  man  in  his  life,  and  he 
never  will.  Guernsey  is  as  noble  a  specimen  brick  as 
ever  trod  the  Senate  from  the  West.  Look  at  him ! 
Not  one  dollar  did  he  put  up.  Not  one  man  is  a  cent 
richer  for  voting  for  him.  That's  more  than  can  be  said 
of  most  any  other  Senator  that  has  been  elected  from 
our  section  since  I  was  knee-high  to  growing  corn! 
And  look  at  his  private  life.  No  woman  ever  came 
within  four  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  of  getting 
the  grip  on  Guernsey." 

"  That's  because  his  affinity  hasn't  come  along." 

"Reckon  you're  right,"  laughs  the  other.  "  There's 
a  girl  made  for  every  fellow,  and  some  of  them  has  a 
good  many  extras.  But  I'll  venture  this,  that  if  Doc 
Guernsey  ever  gits  in  love,  a  prairie  afire  won't  be 
nothing  to  him.  He's  no  man  of  half  measures,  he 
ain't." 

"Risin*  forty  and  never  been  in  the  tender?" 
queries  the  first  in  an  incredulous  voice. 


76  HER   SENATOR. 

The  answer  that  comes  astonishes  Evie. 

"  Oh  yes  he  is.  He's  devoted  to  his  sister,  and  not 
much  to  wonder  at.  She's  the  finest  of  the  fine  be- 
tween the  Missouri  River  and  the  Sierras.  Mattie 
Guernsey's  been  edicated  in  a  St.  Louis  seminary,  and 
can  discount  a  duchess  on  etiquette,  and  give  points 
to  a  French  Profess'  on  playing  the  piano." 

"Then  you  think  if  he  were  in  love,  he'd  be  a  wild 
one?" 

"You  bet!  He's  unplowed  ground,  he  is,  and  would 
bring  up  a  fine  crop  of  emotional  insanity." 

"Well,  he'll  get  a  good  chance  at  it  in  Washingtqn, " 
is  the  reply.  "But  I  understand  Guernsey  is  going  to 
spend  a  month  or  two  at  Saratoga.  The  girls  will 
break  him  in  there.  Speaking  of  girls,  that's  a  fine- 
looking  one  in  the  box  opposite.  Seems  to  me  the 
diamond  on  my  shirt  front  has  caught  her. " 

With  this  the  party  speaking  levels  an  opera-glass  at 
the  beauty  across  the  theater,  and  forgets,  in  the  con- 
templation of  her  loveliness,  to  continue  the  conver- 
sation. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  few  words  from  her  own  box 
wafted  to  Evie's  ears  obliterate  even  Guernsey  from 
her  mind. 

Flora  Atherton  is  speaking. 

"You  say,  Von  Spitzer,"  remarks  the  comedienne, 
"that  men  only  get  curious  names  at  college.  Don't 
you  think  that  girls  have  curious  names  also  ?  Talk 
about  your  Beef  Wheelers,  Doggy  Trenchards  and 
Buck  Thorns — I  once  knew  a  girl  we  called  French 
Eva. " 

With  a  start  Evelyn  looks  at  the  sad  comedienne 
and  forces  memory  backward ;  then  suddenly  she  mur- 
murs under  her  breath:  "  Sallie!"  but  by  an  effort  re- 
strains herself  from  making  recognition  at  the  moment. 
*'Miss  Atherton  wouldn't  care/' she  thinks  bitterly, 


HER  SENATOR.  77 

"  to  have  these  gentlemen  bowing  before  her  pretty 
feet,  guess  that  she  had  been  an  ttbue  of  the  Shep- 
herd's Fold — neither  would  I.  Now  I  know  where  the 
startled-deer  expression  in  her  eyes  comes  from  and  to 
whose  hands  she  owes  that  nervous  timidity  of  manner 
and  dodge-before-you're-hit  skip,  that  has  made  her 
crying  ingenues  such  howling  successes." 

Then  suddenly  it  flashes  through  her  mind  :  "Per- 
haps Sallie  can  tell  me  what  became  of  my  sister!" 
and  she  seeks  an  immediate  chance  to  ask  the  question. 

A  moment  after  Mr.  Steinbergh  suggests  supper, 
which  project  is  immediately  supported  by  Von  Spitzer, 
who  says  in  a  frightened  tone  of  voice:  "The  living 
pictures  are  coming;  let  us  go!  " 

"You  don't  approve  of  that  style  of  art,  Mr.  Von 
Spitzer  ?"  says  the  capitalist,  laughing. 

"Art!"  shrieks  the  critic.  "Don't  insult  art  by 
applying  it  to  them.  What  are  their  nudes — silk  tights ! 
Who  can  get  flesh  tints  out  of  silk  tights  ?  " 

"Good  gracious!  you  wouldn't  have  them  without 
silk  tights?  He,  he,  he!  "  giggles  La  Tollemache  from 
the  back  of  the  box. 

"Yes,  I  would!  Art  is  art  and  flesh  tints  are  flesh 
tints.  Art  must  be  supreme.  Art  is  above  morality! 
Art  is  above  decency !  Art!  ART  !  "  mutters  the  excited 
German. 

" Then  let  us  fly  from  your  abomination,"  remarks 
Steinbergh. 

With  this  the  party  rise. 

A  few  minutes  after  they  find  themselves  very  com- 
fortably seated  at  supper  in  the  Arena.  During  this 
meal  Mrs.  Montressor  has  no  chance  of  private  con- 
verse with  Miss  Atherton.  But  as  they  come  out  to 
their  carriages  on  Thirty  first  street,  just  at  the  door- 
way, a  creature  of  big  frame,  but  shrunken  appearance, 
clad  in  the  seediest  and  shiniest  of  dilapidated  black 


78  HER  SENATOR. 

clothes,  with  an  electric  battery,  ornamented  by 
jingling  bells,  slung  over  him,  suddenly  runs  up  to 
them,  and,  extending  the  handles  of  the  machine  right 
in  Miss  Atherton's  face,  cries  out : 

"Shock,  miss?  Only  ten  cents  for  an  electric 
shock!" 

Gazing  at  him  under  the  arc-lights,  the  comedienne 
gives  a  faint  shriek  and  almost  faints  into  Von  Spitzer's 
ready  arms. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  Get  away  from  here!"  cries 
Claude,  angrily. 

"  I  won't  move  on  unless  I  get  a  dollar.  That's  ten 
cents  a  shock  for  the  whole  party.  SHOCK,  SIR?" 

"Here's  a  dollar,  and  I'll  get  a  policeman  if  you 
don't  move  on,"  replies  Steinbergh,  excitedly.  "  You 
have  frightened  the  lady,  sir. " 

"  Won't  you  take  it  out  in  shocks?  I  like  to  earn 
my  money.  I'm  Electricity  Joe.  This  isn't  my  regu- 
lar stamping  ground ;  the  Bowery's  the  place  I'm  best 
known.  Won't  you  take  a  ten-cent  shock  ?  Won't 
you  take  it  out  in  trade  ?  You  won't  ?  Must  I  move 
on  ?  Then  I'll  move  /" 

And  the  creature  goes  shuffling  away  as  they  assist 
Flora  into  a  carriage. 

"  What  does  she  mean  by  mumbling  so  ? ''  ejaculates 
Von  Spitzer.  "  I've  a  mind  to  go  after  that  wretch  and 
break  his  back." 

But  certain  words  have  come  to  Evie  from  the  come- 
dienne that  make  her  anxious  to  interfere.  She  says: 
"Yes,  go  after  him,  Von  Spitzer;  break  his  back! 
I'll  take  Flora  home.  She's  sick.  The  wear  and  tear 
of  this  season  on  the  stage  have  been  too  much  for 
her." 

"Can't  I  accompany  you  ?"  volunteers  Steinbergh. 

"  No;  I'll  go  with  her— only  I."  She  steps  into  the 
carriage,  while  Steinbergh  gives  the  address  to  the 


HER  SENATOR.  79 

hack  driver.  "She's  better  now.  Go  away,  all  of 
you." 

And  the  carriage  drives  off,  with  Evelyn  Montressor 
gazing  at  Flora  Atherton,  who  is  muttering  to  herself: 
"Mawley!  Mawley  !  MAWLEY! " 

A  few  minutes  after,  by  the  aid  of  Evie's  smelling 
bottle,  Flora  regains  her  senses,  shudders,  and  says 
nothing. 

"Why  did  you  cry  out  'Mawley!'  Sallie  ?"  asks 
Evie,  eagerly. 

Then,  with  a  start,  the  comedienne  whispers:  "You 
know  me  ?" 

"Yes,  you  are  Sallie — Sallie,  of  the  Shepherd's 
Fold."  Then  she  adds,  quietly:  "I  am  French 
Eva!" 

"What!  the  girl  who  sold  the  Bible  to  give  me  pie 
and  cake?" 

"  Yes.     Why  did  you  cry  out  «  Mawley'  ?  " 

"Didn't  you  see  him — didn't  you  recognize  him? 
The  man  with  the  electric  machine?  It  was  Mawley— 
Mawley — MAWLEY  !" 

"MAWLEY!"  echoes  Evie  with  a  suppressed  cry. 
"Oh,  how  I  hope  Von  Spitzer  did  break  his  back!" 
Then  she  goes  on  impetuously:  "You  were  at  the  Fold 
when  I  ran  away.  Sallie,  what  became  of  my  sister  ?" 

"  Mathilde — Mattie — Mignonnette?" 

' '  Yes ;  that's  what  I  called  her — Mignonnette.  What 
became  of  her?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Try  and  recollect — THINK!" 

"  I  will — give  me  time.  The  sight  of  that  man  took 
me  back — it's  so  many  years  ago.  Whenever  I  think 
of  Mawley  I  tremble.  I  wake  up  now — even  now — 
shrieking  and  screaming  in  my  bed  at  night  dreaming 
he  is  beating  me,  Evie,  how  he  used  to  whip  me!  He 
didn't  you ;  he  was  afraid  of  you,  There  was  always 


80  HER  SENATOR. 

something  of  the  devil  in  you  that  saved  you;  but  I — I 
was  young;  I  was  a  child.  Mawley  had  no  mercy  on 
the  helpless  ones." 

"But  my  sister?" 

"  Let  me  think,  Evie.  Come  into  my  rooms  with 
me  when  we  get  home.  I'll  try  and  remember  every- 
thing that  I  can.  Only  let  me  get  out  of  the  darkness 
into  the  light. " 

This  is  soon  done.  The  carriage  is  at  Miss  Ather- 
ton's  pretty  apartment  at  the  Vendome,  and  assisting 
her  up  the  stairs  Evelyn  soon  finds  herself  with  her 
charge  in  an  artistic  little  parlor  brilliantly  lighted. 

"  Now,"  she  says,  "  Sallie,  you  are  out  of  the  dark- 
ness. Mawley  is  not  here.  Get  your  wits  together. 
Tell  me  of  my  sister." 

"Well,  after  you  had  gone — you  know  that  very  day 
you  stole  the  Bible — two  gentlemen  came  in  and  one  of 
them,  the  old  one,  took  Mattie  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her,  and  I — I  had  never  been  kissed  in  my  life  and  I 
wanted  one,  and  I  told  the  young  gentleman  who  was 
with  him  that  I  had  never  had  a  kiss,  and  he  gave  me 
one.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and  he  threatened 
to  chastise  Mawley ;  but  the  older  man — the  one  with 
gray  hair  on  his  temples — the  one  who  had  kissed  your 
sister — restrained  the  younger.  Then  they  went  away, 
taking  Mathilde  with  them.  And  then  Mawley  was 
like  a  devil.  You  remember  Annie — poor  Annie  ?  I 
can  hear  her  screams  now.  Mawley  thought  no  one 
dare  trouble  him  when  they  had  not  prosecuted  him. 
But,  finally,  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Children " 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  that,"  answers  Evie;  "but 
my  sister?" 

"  I  don't  know  where  they  took  her.  SI/"  Disappeared 
after  that  day. " 

' '  Disappeared !    Is  she  dead  ? " 


HER   SENATOR.  8 1 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  can  hardly  remember  about 
myself  then.  All  I  know  is  that  when  the  Fold  was 
broken  up,  kind  hands  were  outstretched  to  me,  and  I 
was  given  a  chance  in  this  world.  And,  do  you  know, 
I  believe  that  Mawley  has  made  my  dramatic  success. 
They  say  I  can  cry  more  naturally  than  any  woman  on 

the  stage.  I  can !  I  simply  think  of  Mawley, "  and 

tears  commence  even  now  to  roll  down  the  beautiful 
actress's  fair  cheeks.  "  They  wanted  me  to  play  Smike 
in  Nicholas  Nickleby.  My  managers  said  it  would  be 
the  greatest  hit  in  the  world,  but  I  dare  not  attempt 
the  role.  I  think  I  would  make  a  success  the  first 
night  and  die  of  nervous  prostration  the  next  day — 
for  I  should  live  the  part !  But  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  after  Electricity  Joe,  that's  where  I'm 
going." 

"To-night?" 

"Now!" 

"Alone  ?" 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"O  Heavens,  no!     How  brave  you  are." 

But  Evelyn  astonishes  the  actress.  She  says:  "I 
will  forgive  him  if  he  tells  me  where  to  find  my  sister!  " 
and  runs  from  the  room,  going  down  to  the  carriage 
hurriedly.  Getting  in,  she  tells  the  driver  to  go  first 
to  the  Arena  restaurant;  where  she  had  last  seen  Elec- 
tricity Joe. 

At  this  place,  engaging  a  District  Telegraph  boy, she 
puts  him  into  the  carriage  with  her  and  pursues  the 
electricity  vender,  and  finally  overtaking  him  on  the 
Bowery,  by  the  electric  light  interviews  him  and  says: 
"You  know  me  ?  " 

And  he  cries:  "  Shock  ?  Ten  cents!  " 

She  says :  "  I  know  you ! " 

"Do  you  ?  Shock,  ten  cents!" 

"You  are  the  Reverend  Jonas  Mawley." 


82  HER  SENATOR. 

Here  Electricity  Joe  utters  a  horrible  shriek  and  sets 
his  electric  machine  in  motion,  jingling  his  bells  and 
crying:  "No,  no,  they  killed  him  in  prison." 

"  They  did  not.     You  are  alive.     I  am  French  Eva !" 

At  this  he  utters  a  horrible  chuckle  and  whispers 
tremblingly:  "Don't  give  me  away!  I  shocked  thirty 
children  to  death  to-day  with  electricity." 

"My  sister,  Mathilde — you  remember  her?  Little 
Mattie — Mignonncttc — you  know?"  begs  Evie  desper- 
ately and  implores  him  to  give  her  tidings  of  her  loved 
and  lost  one! 

At  which  he  utters  another  cry  and  mutters:  "Yes, 
I  shocked  her,  too." 

"  Oh,  Heavens!     Have  you  no  mind  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  have  a  stomach.  Ten  cents  for  a  shock ; 
please  take  a  shock  for  ten  cents!  If  you  won't  take 
a  shock ;- let  the  boy  take  a  shock!  It'll  register  just 
how  much  voltage  he  can  stand  without  dying  !  " 

At  this  the  District  Telegraph  boy  runs  away  with  a 
cry  of  terror. 

But  Mrs.  Montressor  hardly  thinks  of  the  boy.  She 
is  muttering  hoarsely  to  herself:  "  God,  in  punishing 
him,  has  punished  me.  God,  in  destroying  his  mind, 
has  wrecked  my  last  hope  of  seeing  Mathilde  again,  of 
knowing  whether  she  is  living  or  dead !  " 


HER   SENATOR  83 


CHAPTER  VII. 
"BEWARE  OF  ALIMONY!" 

WITH  disappointment  in  her  soul  Evelyn  reenters 
her  cab,  and  in  a  broken  voice  gives  the  driver  her 
address. 

"It  is  but  another  effort  that  has  failed,"  she 
mutters.  "If  he  had  only  had  his  mind  perchance 
I  would  have  seen  my  sister's  face,"  then  cries  with 
tearless  sobs:  "Mathilde!  Mathilde!  I,  who  should 
have  protected  you,  deserted  you.  But  I  couldn't  bear 
to  stay  to  be  beaten.  You'll  remember  that,  darling, 
and  forgive  me !  " 

But,  forced  by  very  impotency  to  be  stoical  on  this 
matter,  after  a  time  the  fair  wanderer  brings  herself  to 
calmness,  just  as  the  carriage  stops. 

Entering  her  apartment  Evie  finds,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, Claude  and  Von  Spitzer  making  a  very  comfort- 
able time  of  it  over  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  cigars 
of  exquisite  aroma.  "  Who  has  paid  for  it? "  she  won- 
ders. She  knows  the  critic  has  not. 

But  this  is  elucidated,  she  thinks,  by  Claude's  open- 
ing remarks. 

He  says:  "  Steinbergh  was  here  and  waited  to  find 
out  if  Miss  Atherton  had  got  to  the  good  again,  but 
you  were  so  long  coming  old  Jelly  Trust  was  compelled 
to  leave,  so  Heinrich  and  I  have  been  consoling  our- 
selves  " 

"For  the  absence  of  beauty  with  the  presence  of 
wine,"  interjects  Von  Spitzer  effusively.  "How  is 
the  charming  Miss  Flora?  Oh,  it  was  cruel,  cruel,  not 
to  let  me  accompany  you  to  her  home." 


84  HER   SENATOR. 

"Oh,  Flora  is  entirely  recovered,"  replies  Evelyn 
lightly.  "A  mere  attack  of  the  nerves,  and  your 
presence  I  am  sure  would  have  agitated  her." 

This  remark  puts  the  critic  in  happy  and  triumphant 
mind.  He  says:  "  Mein  Gott !  the  divine  comedienne! 
It  is  well  I  did  not  go.  Her  tears  of  pathos  would 
have  driven  me  distracted.  But  good-night,  Mrs. 
Montressor,  I  kiss  your  sweet  hand  for  your  attentions 
to  Flora.  AuJ  wieder  sehcn,  my  Claude,  many  thanks  for 
the  champagne  and  cigars,"  and  departs,  leaving  Evelyn 
wondering:  "Can  it  be  possible  that  my  husband  has 
money  in  his  pocket  ?  " 

She  puts  this  thought  aside,  remembering  Steinbergh 
has  been  there,  and  imagining  that  Mecsenas  must  have 
purchased  the  entertainment. 

The  next  morning,  however,  financial  shock  comes  to 
her.  Signer  Amadie  not  making  his  appearance  with 
her  half  of  the  thousand  dollars,  she  writes  the  Italian 
a  little  note  asking  him  if  he  will  please  send  it  to  her. 

This  the  artist  answers  breathless  and  in  person, 
crying  as  he  comes  in :  "  Dea  mia,  do  you  want  all  for 
which  I  sold  the  picture  ?  Is  art  to  have  nothing  and 
beauty  everything  ?" 

"  No,  but  beauty  wants  her  half." 

"  That  I  have  already  given  you." 

"  Given  me  ?     Impossible  !" 

"Certainly,  through  your  husband.  I  gave  it  to  him 
yesterday.  I  was  coming  back  with  it.  At  the  door 
he  met  me.  I  said,  '  It  is  the  price  of  your  wife's  sit- 
tings for  me.  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  hand  it 
to  her  !'  And  he  said  he  would  with  a  grand  deal  of 
pleasure." 

"  The  miserable  !"  cries  Evie.  "  Now  I  know  where 
the  cigars  and  champagne  came  from.  The  sybarite  ! 
the  drone " 

"Where  is  he?"  cries  the  artist,  "the  embezzler, 


HER  SENATOR.  85 

the  defaulter.  For  this  crime  he  shall  answer  to  me, 
Amadie,  the  Italian  !" 

"That  is  impossible,"  answers  Evelyn.  "Mr. 
Montressor  is  at  present  away,  spending  the  money.  I 
know  him.  Too  well  I  know  him  !"  and  she  clenches 
her  hands  and  bites  her  lips  until  the  blood  comes,  for 
this  is  a  mishap  almost  fatal  to  her  plan.  "It 
is  twenty  to  one,"  she  continues,  "that  Claude  is  at 
the  Coney  Island  Jockey  Club  backing  the  favorites;" 
then  ejaculates  eagerly  :  "God  grant  that  he  wins  !" 
next  sighs,  "but  Claude  is  a  bad  gambler.  Go  away, 
Amadie,  I  am  broken-hearted." 

"You  will  sit  for  me  once  more ;  I  will  paint  a  great 
picture — the  Goddess  of  Revenge,  shedding  tears  over 
losing  it." 

"Yes,  I  might  as  well  do  that  as  fret  my  heart  out 
here,  waiting  for  him. " 

So  she  spends  part  of  the  afternoon  at  the  studio  of  the 
Italian,  where  he  outlines  a  picture  that  may  some  day 
make  him  famous. 

"We  will  get  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  for  this," 
remarks  Amadie,  as  she  finishes  the  sitting.  "Where 
are  you  going  now  ?  " 

"To  see  how  Flora  Atherton  is  to-day,"  Evie  replies. 
"She  was  suffering  from  nervous  prostration  last  night. " 

"Ah,  the  beautiful,  yet  sad,  comedienne.  I  have 
longed  for  her  face.  If  I  could  put  it  on  canvas,  if  I 
could  catch  the  smile  and  the  tear  together.  Gran  Dio! 
what  a  superb  picture  !  An  ideal  of  the  naughty  girl 
stealing  the  cherries  and  caught  at  it  !  I  will  accom- 
pany you,"  suggests  the  artist  in  his  off-hand,  foreign 
way,  not  thinking  it  necessary  to  be  asked. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  they  are  at  the  Vendome, 
where,  to  Amadie's  disgust,  the  actress's  maid  informs 
them  that  Miss  Atherton  is  indisposed  but  will  see 
Mrs.  Montressor.  ^  — 


86  HER   SENATOR. 

"I  will  come  back  for  you  in  half  an  hour.  Cheer 
her  up  and  get  her  to  see  me.  If  she  will  not  sit  for 
me  I  will  catch  her  face  as  I  look  at  it.  I  must  have 
those  eyes.  You  say  something  that  makes  her  cry, 
and  I  will  catch  the  tear  and  will  bless  you  !  " 

A  minute  after  Evelyn  is  ushered  into  the  actress's 
pretty  parlor  and  there  received  by  Miss  Atherton,  who, 
in  a  delicate  teagown,  looks  distressed  beauty  idealized. 

"  I  had  an  awful  night  of  it,"  she  says,  with  a 
pathetic  nioue.  "I  dreamt  of  him!  And  you  had 
the  courage  to  go  after  him  ?  Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

•'Yes,"  replies  E  vie  sadly,  "but  Mawley's  mind  is 
gone,  he  has  no  memory.  I  could  learn  nothing  of 
my  sister.  Can't  you  recollect  something  more  of 
— of  Mignonnettel  "  and  tears  gleam  in  the  lovely  blue 
eyes. 

"  Nothing.  I  tried  to  think  and  that  brought  on 
my  nightmare.  Oh,  it  was  awful!  I  had  a  nerve- 
stretching  dream.  I  dreamt  I  was  back  at  the 
Fold;  I  dreamt  I  was  hungry;  I  dreamt  you  stole  four 
bibles;  then  I  dreamt  Mawley  shocked  us  all  with 
electricity;  and  then  I  shrieked — oh,  how  I  shrieked! 
The  house  porter  came  up.  The  people  in  the  adjoin- 
ing apartments  flew  out  of  their  rooms.  It  was  about 
as  bad  as  an  alarm  of  fire.  But  you  don't  look  well, 
Evelyn — you'll  let  me  call  you  Evelyn  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  won't  call  you  Sally,  because  you  have 
another  name — Flora.  How  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  nom  de  thtdtre.  Sallie  Brackett  isn't  as 
alluring  on  posters  as  Flora  Atherton.  After  the  Fold, 
kind  people  took  me.  I  was  brought  up  even  as  one 
of  them.  I  shared  their  little.  But  they  have  passed 
away  and  left  me  to  fight  my  own  battle  with  the 
world ;  and  Mawley  has  helped  me  to  do  it.  And  you, 
Evelyn,  what  became  of  you  when  you  ran  away  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     I. was  half  crazy!"  mutters  Mrs. 


HER  SENATOR.  87 

Montressor,  a  hunted  look  coming  into  her  blue 
eyes.  "All  I  thought  of  was  to  get  as  far  as  possible 
from  Mawley.  Somehow  I  wandered  to  Fourteenth 
street.  The  flaming  gas  jets  of  a  theatre  caught  my 
eye  and  announced  French  Opera.  I  heard  French! 
the  language  that  I  loved,  the  tongue  that  had  been 
spoken  to  me  in  Paris,  when  I  was  rich  and  happy,  and 
had  loving  kindness  and  a  father's  care,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  the  sounds  of  home.  In  America  I  had  been 
treated  as  a  pauper;  English  was  to  me  a  cruel  tongue, 
French  the  language  of  kindness.  I  followed  some 
chorus  girls,  listening  to  their  Parisian  argot  that  gave 
me  hope.  Into  the  stage  door  I  went  with  them  and 
there  I  believe  I  fainted  from  hunger,  from  weakness. 
If  you  want  quick  charity  turn  to  the  theatrical  profes- 
sion. They  haven't  much,  but  they'll  give  you  what 
they've  got.  I  was  revived,  I  believe,  with  champagne 
from  a  neighboring  saloon,  and  fed  on  free  lunch  from 
the  same  hospitable  counter.  The  prima  donna  made 
a  pet  of  me.  A  Frenchwoman  always  loves  one  who  can 
speak  her  language  when  she  is  away  from  home.  I  jab- 
bered baby  French  to  her  and  caught  her  heart.  She 
tried  my  voice,  and  I  soon  sang  small  parts  in  the  opera, 
but  I  would  not  leave  this  country  to  go  to  Paris  with  her 
a  few  years  afterward,  because  I  wanted  to  find  my 
sister.  She  was  in  America;  that  was  my  only  chance 
of  seeing  Mathilde  again.  I  could  not  destroy  it.  So  I 
remained  here,  went  on  the  concert  stage — not  in  New 
York,  but  in  small  places.  On  one  of  these  tours  I 
met  Claude.  He  was  the  accompanist.  You  know  he 
does  a  little  of  everything.  He  acts  badly,  plays  badly, 
paints  badly,  but  he  does  them  all!  Well,  you  know 
his  lion  head.  I  was  very  young,  I  felt  lonely,  Claude 
felt  lonely.  One  day  he  said,  '  Suppose  we  are  lonely 
together? '  So  we  were  married.  The  concert  tour 
was  my  honeymoon ;  the  return  from  it  an  awakeniw; 


88  HER   SENATOR. 

Claude  is  susceptible.  He  loves  devotedly,  but  not 
for  long.  So,  voila  !  behold  me !  " 

She  has  hardly  finished  when  Signer  Amadie  is 
announced.  "You'll  see  him  a  few  minutes,  won't 
you?"  asks  Evie.  "You  know  he  painted  my  picture." 

"Oh,  that  beautiful  one!  "  replies  the  actress.  Then 
she  adds:  "  I  wish  he  would  paint  mine." 

"He  will,  bravo!  he  will,"  cries  Mrs.  Montressor, 
clapping  her  hands.  "You'll  see  him  for  a  few  min- 
utes to  arrange  the  sittings,  won't  you  ?  He's  the 
nicest  little  Italian  fellow  in  the  world.  His  heart  is 
as  soft  as  his  brush." 

"  Yes,  if  he  will  promise  to  paint  me." 

"  I  guarantee  it." 

A  minute  after,  with  his  best  bow  the  Italian  conies 
in  and  is  presented. 

"I  promised  Flora,"  remarks  Evelyn,  "that  if  she 
would  receive  you  this  afternoon  you  would  paint  her 
portrait.  Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Will  I  not  ?  Let  me  put  you  two  in  a  group,  ah-h! 
an  inspiration — a  group!  The  Goddess  of  Revenge 
looking  down  at  her  victim.  They  will  shrink  from 
your  great  eyes,  Madame  Montressor,  but  Ha,  ha, 
ha!  How  they  will  laugh  at  the  victim.  Or  better 
still,  a  home  group — the  clandestine  marriage.  One 
sister  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  on  the  other! " 

At  this  they  burst  into  laughter,  and  a  moment  after 
Evelyn  takes  the  artist  away,  for  she  sees  that  Flora 
needs  rest. 

To-day  is  the  beginning  of  a  charming  friendship 
between  these  two. 

So  the  little  Italian  accompanies  Mrs.  Montressor  to 
a  quiet  dinner  at  the  Cafe  Martin,  where  Evie  from  an 
adjoining  table  hears  some  things  that  make  her  grind 
the  pearls  she  calls  teeth  over  her  entrte. 

"You  should  have  seen  La  Tollemache  play  th« 


HER  SENATOR.  89 

races  to-day,"  remarks  a  sporty-looking  man  to  his  vis- 
a-vis who  is  equally  sporty  in  appearance.  She  was 
backing  the  favorites  and  losing  her  money." 

"Her  money?"  says  the  other.  "She  hasn't  got 
any." 

"Well  then,  his  money.  Whenever  little  Tolle- 
mache  won  she  pocketed  the  stakes,  and  he  always 
bought  the  tickets." 

"  So  she's  caught  a  backer." 

"I  should  say  so.  He's  probably  an  English  lord 
or  a  dude.  He's  as  chappie  a  young  fellow  as  ever 
sucked  a  cane  or  turned  up  his  pants!  " 

And  the  gentleman  gives  a  short  but  graphic  descrip- 
tion of  Mrs.  Montressor's  absent  lord  and  master. 

Little  Amadie  does  not  understand  to  whom  this 
conversation  refers  as  he  has  never  heard  of  Miss 
Tollemache.  He,  however,  notes  that  his  companion 
is  nervous,  perchance  unhappy. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  your  loss  ?  "  he  says. 

"  Yes  I  want  to  meet  him,"  she  answers  almost  sav- 
agely. "  Perhaps  he's  at  home  now,  come!  "  and  tak- 
ing the  Italian's  arm  Evie  walks  to  her  apartment  with 
a  step  that  bodes  no  good  to  Claude  Auchester  Mon- 
tressorwhen  his  pretty  wife  meets  him. 

But  Claude  is  still  absent  and  Amadie  leaves  her  to 
her  reflections  which  are  many,  various,  good,  bad  and 
indifferent;  but  all  center  on  one  point,  the  campaign 
she  has  planned — and  the  sinews  of  war  to  carry  it  out. 

This  gloomy  reverie  is  broken  in  upon  by  a  District 
Telegraph  boy,  who  hands  her  a  letter. 

Tearing  it  open,  she  reads: 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  MONTRESSOR  :  If  you  have  another  of  the 
Impressionist's  pictures  left,  I  have  room  for  it  upon  my  wall. 
Something  lurid  would  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  old  mas- 
ters. I  saw  a  "  sunset"  on  your  easel. 

Yours  sincerely, 
AUGUST  MORRIS  STEINBERGH, 


90  HER  SENATOR, 

"The  generous  fellow!"  she  murmurs;  "he  has 
heard  of  my  husband's  peculation  from  Amadie." 

Ten  minutes  after  Claude's  easel  has  no  picture  upon 
it.  "Sunset"  is  packed  and  forwarded  to  the  kindly 
financier,  with  this  note: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STEINBERGH  :  Instead  of  giving  me  the 
money  for  this  picture,  which,  understand  me,  is  worth  no 
more  than  the  others,  would  you  kindly  invest  it  for  me? 
Couldn't  you  take  a  'flier' — I  believe  I  use  the  right  term — in 
some  stock  or  bond,  something  that  you  know  will  go  up  and 
something  you  are  sure  will  not  go  down  ?  Give  me  the  bene- 
fit of  your  financial  brain,  come  and  see  me,  and  receive  the 
thanks  of  Yours  most  gratefully, 

EVELYN  MONTRESSOR. 

"Yes,  that  is  better,"  she  thinks.  "One  hundred 
dollars  is  nothing  to  me.  I  will  need  thousands  to 
make  my  coup.  That  worthless  Claude  has  perhaps 
ruined  my  chances  of  senatorial  speculation." 

A  few  minutes  after  the  worthless  Claude  presents 
himself  in  very  bad  humor.  The  betting  ring  at  the 
Coney  Island  Jockey  Club  has  not  produced  good  re- 
sults either  upon  his  pocket  or  his  temper. 

"Where  the  devil  is  my  picture?  "  he  growls,  look- 
ing around  for  something  to  find  fault  with. 

"Where  it  should  be — out  of  sight" 

"Yes,  it  is  out  of  sight,"  he  answers;  "out  of  sight 
as  a  work  of  art.  I  noticed  it  turned  upside  down, 
that  you  had  labeled  it  '  Sunset.'  Right  side  up  it  was 
commonplace,  but  upside  down  it  was  grand,  the  work 
of  a  genius.  After  this  I  paint  on  my  head.  And 
what  have  you  done  with  this  chef-d'auvre  !  " 

"  What  have  you  done  with  my  money  ?  "  she  says. 
"  The  five  hundred  dollars  Amadie  gave  you  to  give  to 
me.  Answer  me  that  !  " 

"  I  will!  "  he  returns  shortly.  "I  have  ventured  it 
and  lost  it." 

"What !  All  of  it  ? "    There  is  pathos  in  her  cry. 


HER  SENATOR.  01 

"  Yes,  every  red  cent.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me 
in  that  way,"  he  goes  on.  "  I  know  it's  pathetic.  But 
it  belonged  to  me.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  the  price  for 
loaning  your  beautiful  features  for  Amadie's  canvas. 
Those  features  became  mine  when  you  married  me.  In 
the  next  place,  it  is  only  taking  the  money  that 
belongs  to  me  for  the  five  pictures  of  my  genius — my 
genius,  Madame,  that  you  sold  to  Steinbergh  at  a  hun- 
dred dollars  apiece.  Ah  !  that  hit  you,  didn't  it  ?  You 
didn't  guess  that  I  could  make  Von  Spitzer  gossip 
over  a  bottle  of  champagne,  did  you  ?  You  think  your 
husband's  a  fool,  don't  you  ?  " 

"I  do  indeed,  Claude,"  she  says,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  face.  "Because  now  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  my  little  plan." 

"What  is  it?" 

" TO-MORROW  I  AM  GOING  TO  DIVORCE  YOU." 

"  What.'" 

"  And  you  are  going  to  let  me  do  it." 

"You — you  don't  mean  it  !  "  stammers  the  young 
man,  gazing  at  the  beauty  that  he  feels  may  now  be  his 
own  no  longer, — at  the  sunny  hair,  lovely  indignant 
eyes  and  exquisite  though  trembling  figure  that  stands 
before  him,  and  feeling  that  blessings  brighten  as  they 
take  their  flight. 

"Every  word  of  it  !  and  you  are  going  to  make  no 
defense  in  the  action."  , 

"  Why  not  ?  You're  deucedly  mistaken  if  you  don't 
think  I  will  my  lady,"  mutters  Claude  bitterly. 

"  No,  you  are  not  I  If  you  do,  beware  of  alimony  ! 
If  you  consent,  no  alimony  !  If  you  contest,  I  shall 
demand  all  a  jury  or  a  judge  will  give  me  in  my  distress 
— and  I  can  look  very  beautiful  in  court,  my  Claude  ! " 
she  adds  with  a  slight  laugh. 

Gazing  at  her  he  knows  she  can ;  as  she  stands  there 
graceful,  appealing,  clinging  loveliness  in  every  glance, 


92  HER  SENATOR. 

in  every  pose.  He  literally  shudders  when  he  thinks 
of  her  effect  upon  a  jury. 

"Why — I — I  never  earn  much  money,"  he  falters, 
"It's your — your  singing,  Evie,  that  has  kept  the  wolf 
from  the  door." 

Which  in  truth  it  has,  for  Evelyn's  concerts  through 
New  England  and  certain  parts  of  the  West  where  Chica 
is  a  local  favorite  have  kept  Claude  from  financial  ruin. 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  but  will  not  be  believed  by  the 
Court.  A  man  is  always  supposed  to  be  the  bread- 
winner. I  shall  prove  through  Von  Spitzer,  George 
Copp£e  and  other  critics,  that  you  have  publicly  stated 
to  them  many,  many  times  that  your  salary  was  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  when  you  were 
on  the  stage. " 

"Twenty-five  dollars,  you  mean,"  gasps  Claude 
growing  pale. 

"It  was  twenty-five,  but  you  always  said  two 
hundred  and  twenty  -  five.  I  know  enough  about 
juries  to  know  that  I  will  get  great  alimony  from  you, 
and  as  you  won't  work  and  can't  work,  you  will  be  put 
in  prison.  That's  what  they  do  with  husbands  who 
don't  support  their  poor  divorced  wives.  There  are 
many  in  Ludlow  Street  Jail  now.  Ask  them  about 
alimony!  See  what  they  think  about  alimony!  The 
Court  directs  you  to  pay  it,  and  if  you  don't  you  are 
arrested  for  contempt,  sir,  and  jailed.  Think  how 
happy  you'll  be  behind  the  bars,  my  Claude,  for  you 
never  can  earn  the  alimony  I  shall  get  from  you.  And 
into  prison  you  will  go.  Our  marriage  was  at  best  a 
frivolous  affair,  made  when  I  was  in  love  with  you, 
but  that  seems  ages  ago — made  when  I  thought  your 
soul  shone  through  your  eyes,  and  that  you  were  as 
you  look — NOBLE!  But  now  I  will  be  free  from  you. 
No,  you  needn't  implore,  you  need  not  beg;  seek  com- 
fort from  La  Tollemache,  go  to  your  Carrolia  Guissipe! 


HER  SENATOR.  93 

For  you  and  I  are  things  apart  from  now  on  for- 
ever." 

"You  have  some  great  idea;  you  want  to  be  free 
from  me!  Good  God!  I  understand  now.  You — 
you  are  going  to  marry  Steinbergh!"  he  shrieks 
with  such  ferocious  emphasis  as  this  idea  flies 
into  his  brain,  that  she  bursts  out  laughing  and  can't 
answer  him  for  a  moment. 

"  No,  not  Steinbergh,"  she  finally  mutters.  "  One 
fling  of  the  matrimonial  dice  is  enough  for  me — at 
present.  That's  all.  Some  women  would  lie  to  you, 
and  tell  you,  my  Claude,  that  they  do  it  because  you 
have  broken  their  hearts,  but  I  tell  you  that  my  heart 
is  not  broken,  thank  God;  I  still  have  a  heart  and 
conscience,  and  I  don't  want  to  feel  that  I'm  going  to 
love  another  and  make  another  love  me  when  I  have 
a  husband  that  a  sickly  sentimentality  might  make  the 
world  think  I  was  wronging." 

"You're  going  to  love  another — you  are  going  to 
make  another  love  you  ?  Who  the  deuce  is  he  ? " 
snarls  Claude  in  savage  astonishment. 

"  My  senator!  "  she  says,  airily,  then  goes  on  laugh- 
ingly: "Well,  I've  told  you  sufficient — more  than 
perhaps  policy  would  permit  me  to  tell  to  a  man  who 
is  now,  with  me,  a  rank  outsider.  Is  it  divorce  with- 
out contest  and  without  alimony,  or  is  it  divorce  with 
contest  and  with  alimony,  and  my  poor,  little  Claude 
behind  the  bars  of  Ludlow  Street  Jail  because  he 
won't  pay  his  poor,  little  wifey  some  of  the  great  money 
the  judge  thinks  his  dramatic  abilities  command  ? 
Which  is  it,  man  cher — am  I  free  ?  " 

"  Free!  "  gasps  the  man  with  rueful  voice. 

"  Very  well,"  she  says,  "  then  Mr  Claude  Auchester 
Montressor,  will  you  kindly  oblige  me  by  leaving  my 
apartment.  It  is  later  than  I  generally  receive 
visitors." 


94 


HER   SENATOR. 


"  Your  apartment  ?  " 

"Certainly,  I  pay  the  rent  for  it — the  furniture  was 
bought  by  my  money.  Au  revoir.  You  may  expect 
the  "summons  and  complaint"  to-morrow  morning 
at  the  address  to  which  I  shall  order  your  trunk  sent! 
Good-by.  What,  won't  shake  hands  ?  " 

And  Claude  Auchester  Montressor  staggers  out  of 
the  rooms  muttering  to  himself:  "  By  the  Lord  Harry, 
she's  a  wonder! " 

In  the  street  he  pauses  and  wipes  his  brow  as  if 
dizzy  and  stunned,  then  gazing  up  at  the  windows  of 
the  room  he  sees  a  shadow  thrown  upon  the  blind,  and 
thinking  of  the  beauty  that  once  was  his — and  will 
be  his  no  more — Claude  shudders  and  says:  "She'll 
never  forgive;"  then  mutters  savagely  these  curious 
but  astute  words:  "Who  ever  it  is,  I  hate  him!" 

The  next  moment,  after  the  manner  of  such  natures, 
he  commences  to  sob,  and  falters:  "She  was  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  and  I  abused  her.  She 
treated  me  like  an  angel,  and  I  was  a  fiend  to  her,  God 
forgive  me!  "  to  which  he  adds:  "Won't  little  Tolle- 
mache  he-he-he  when  she  hears  this."  and  walks 
away  whistling  a  merry  strain  from  //  Barbtirc. 

And  the  woman;  she  who  had  called  herself  his 
wife  ? 

In  the  room  above  Evelyn  has  sunk  down  sobbing 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She  knows  that  she  has 
given  up  a  worthless  thing — but  it  was  once  hers,  all 
hers!  She  can  remember  when  she  thought  him  noble 
and  true ;  when  she  had  expected  to  walk  through  life 
by  his  side. 

SHE  CAN  REMEMBER  WHEN  HE  LOVED  HER! 


HER  SENATOR.  95 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BURNING    HER    BRIDGES. 

THE  next  morning  Evelyn,  who  is  a  young  woman 
of  energy,  determination  and  action,  mutters  to  her- 
self as  she  partakes  of  rolls  and  coffee,  "I  must  burn 
my  bridges  behind  me,"  and  does  so  ! 

Mr.  Claude  Auchester  Montressor  gets  his  papers  in 
the  suit  of  Montressor  vs.  Montressor  served  upon 
him  with  his  trunks  and  other  belongings. 

And  he  making  no  opposition,  and  the  proceedings 
being  hurried  along  by  a  very  sharp  young  lawyer  who 
devotes  himself  to  the  legalities  of  Bohemia,  a  decree 
is  very  shortly  entered  granting  the  prayer  of  Evelyn 
Aubrey  Montressor  upon  statutory  grounds,  and  for- 
bidding the  defendant,  Claude  Auchester  Montressor, 
from  ever  marrying  again  in  the  State  of  New  York — 
one  of  the  many  absurdities,  crudities,  and  cruelties  of 
New  York  law,  whose  code  has  been  formed,  not  for 
the  bestowal  of  justice,  but  for  the  benefit  of  lawyers. 

These  legal  proceedings,  of  course,  take  some  little 
time,  and  are  a  heavy  strain  upon  the  already  dimin- 
ished resources  of  the  fair  plaintiff. 

But  relief  comes  to  her  from  an  almost  forgotten 
source.  One  evening  Mr.  Steinbergh  calls  upon  her. 
He  has  in  his  hand  two  little  pieces  of  paper;  one  is  an 
account  of  certain  sales  and  purchases  made  in  the 
stock  of  the  Gelatine  Trust,  the  other  is  a  check.  The 
latter  of  these,  with  woman's  business  instinct,  Mrs. 
Montressor  seizes  and  inspects,  then  gives  a  faint  but 
prolonged  shriek  of  delight:  "Four  thousand  two 
hundred  and  fifty-seven  dollars  and  forty-nine  cents  ! 
Oh,  man  of  the  touch  of  gold  !  " 


96  HER  SENATOR. 

"  No,  only  with  the  knowledge  of  the  insider,"  replies 
Mr.  Steinbergh,  laughing.  "  You  asked  me  to  buy  for 
you  with  your  hundred  dollars  some  stock  that  was 
sure  to  go  up.  Now,  I  knew  of  none  of  that  kind ;  but 
I  was  pretty  certain  that  I  knew  of  one  that  was  sure 
to  go  down,  so  I  made  you  a  bear.  Your  claws  are 
now  red  with  the  financial  gore  of  the  bull.  You 
sold  a  hundred  shares  short.  Down  it  went  a  point, 
and  you  sold  two  hundred  shares  more  short.  I  made 
a  descending  pyramid  for  you,  and  there  is  the  result 
minus  commissions.  It  is  a  strictly  business  affair.  Do 
not  thank  me.  If  your  hundred  dollars  had  been 
gobbled  up  by  the  bull  that  would  have  been  the  last 
of  you  in  the  stock  market !  " 

"  But  I  will,  not  for  the  money  nor  for  your  great 
business  head,  but  for  your  kind  heart,"  she  replies, 
tears  of  gratitude  in  her  fair  eyes. 

Looking  at  her  beauty  an  idea  comes  into  the  head 
of  this  benevolent  financier,  who  is  hated  and  cursed 
on  Wall  street  for  the  financial  havoc  he  has  caused, 
but  here  appears  the  very  embodiment  of  urbanity  and 
generosity.  Papa  Tiger  doubtless  seems  benevolent 
to  his  cubs  and  to  his  wife,  when  he  brings  home  the 
body  of  a  tender  Brahmin  baby  for  the  family  dinner. 
To  the  despoiled  village  he  appears  a  different  kind  of 
a  brute. 

Looking  at  her,  something  new  comes  into  Mr. 
Steinbergh's  eyes.  He  says,  suggestively:  "You  are, 
I  understand,  obtaining  a  divorce  from  your  husband." 

"  It  is  already  obtained,  "she  answers.  "The  decree 
was  granted  to-day.  I  am  free  of  Claude  forever. " 

"That  is  very  wise,  I  think,"  replies  the  financier. 
"  Do  you  spend  the  summer  in  Saratoga  ? " 

"  Yes,  with  Flora.  We  have  become  chums.  Cut 
off  from  che  love  of  man,  I  turn  to  the  friendship  of 
woman." 


HER   SENATOR.  97 

"Not  from  the  love  of  all  men?"  queries  the 
Croesus,  playfully.  "  Not  so  long  as  men  admire 
beauty  and  a  good  heart. " 

"You  ascribe  those  attributes  to  me  ?  "  she  mutters, 
opening  her  eyes. 

"Why,  you  look  surprised,"  he  laughs.  "  Is  it  won- 
derful that  you  should  have  beauty,  or  a  good  heart  ?  " 

"Very!  "she  replies  bitterly,  "  especially  the  last. 
My  childhood  was  one  of  cruelty,  my  youth — you  have 
seen  it — you  know  what  it  is — go  away,  please,  good, 
dear  Mr.  Steinbergh,  I  am  not  at  my  best  now."  And 
she  sends  the  financier  from  her;  for,  with  a  woman's 
tact,  she  has  noticed  a  new  something  in  his  eyes. 

After  he  has  gone,  she  mutters  to  herself:  "  No,  no! 
Not  from  gratitude ;  from  that  least  of  all !  I  at  least 
will  have  at  my  next  wedding — if  it  ever  comes — another 
honeymoon.  Oh,  the  joy  of  that  time!  A  fool's  para- 
dise, but  it  was  lovely  to  walk  within  it!" 

Then  she  thinks:  "But  I  did  right;  I  have  cut  Claude 
forever  out  of  my  life,  I  have  burned  my  bridges,  I 
have  done  a  wise  thing." 

Has  she  ? 

Mr.  Claude  Auchester  Montressor  may  be  divorced, 
but  he  is  not  thrown  off.  He  has  a  clinging  nature,  and 
begins  to  love  the  one  he  has  lost,  once  more.  He  goes 
about  among  Evelyn's  friends  as  a  wronged  man ;  he 
poses  as  a  broken-hearted,  cast-off  husband.  To  such 
an  extent  does  he  carry  his  melancholy  that  he  even 
gains  the  sympathy  of  Von  Spitzer,  who  breaks  out  at 
Evelyn  one  evening  as  he  brings  her  back  from  a 
visit  to  Flora  Atherton. 

"  For  God's  sake,  why  don't  you  have  some  mercy 
for  that  poor  devil,  who  is  breaking  his  heart  for 
you? " 

"Who  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  Evie,  opening  her  eyes 
quite  widely. 


98  HER  SENATOR. 

"Why,  Claude,  of  course.  Why  don't  you  let  him 
visit  you  once  in  a  while  ?  " 

"He  does!  "  says  Evelyn,  curtly. 

"When?" 

"  Every  day  !  He  comes  at  two  o'clock,  he  says  for 
old  time's  sake.  He  looks  so  miserable  I  haven't  the 
heart  to  tell  him  to  never  show  his  face  again.  I  know 
I'm  a  fool  for  it,  but  I  once  loved  him.  I  know  I 
should  cut  him  off  remorselessly,  but  I  haven't  done  it. 
Fool!  Dolt!  Idiot,  that  I  am,"  she  goes  on  in  self- 
reproach. 

And  Evie  is  right  in  regard  to  this ;  for  Claude,  hav- 
ing once  got  into  the  habit  of  dropping  in  upon  his  ex- 
wife,  hangs  around  his  ex-fireside  with  a  much  greater 
devotion  than  he  ever  did  when  it  was  his  by  right. 
Some  men  always  appreciate  so  much  more  what  does 
not  belong  to  them  than  that  which  they  have. 

Were  Evelyn  to  show  signs  of  falling  in  love  with 
another  man,  or  marrying  again,  Claude  Montressor  is 
of  that  peculiar  material  that  would  make  grand  scenes, 
and  play  lago  parts  with  great  expression,  some  sub- 
tlety, and  a  prodigious,  easy-going  malice.  He  would 
not  put  Othello  up  to  murder,  but  he  might  incite 
him  to  savage  jealousy  and  relentless  persecution. 

As  it  now  stands,  Claude  does  the  persecuting 
himself.  He  drops  in  at  Evie's  on  afternoons,  when 
she  entertains  a  few  of  her  chosen  intimates  with  tea, 
gossip,  and  other  feminine  comforts,  and  stands  loung- 
ing about,  looking  at  the  armchair  he  once  occupied 
as  lord  and  master,  and  sighing  so  deeply  that  some 
of  Mrs.  Montressor's  old  friends  look  reproachfully  at 
the  ex-wife;  for  Claude  has  very  handsome  eyes,  a 
noble  forehead,  and  a  way  of  tossing  his  sunny  curls 
from  off  it  as  if  he  were  a  lion  in  distress — a  style  of 
playing  that  goes  very  well  with  the  fair  sex,  as  Mr. 
Montressor  knows. 


HER   SENATOR.  99 

"It  has  been  the  lesson  of  my  life,"  he  whispers, 
confidentially,  to  Flora  Atherton.  "I  admit  I  was 
wild — gay — reckless;  but  I  never  thought  she  would 
have  done  this  to  me.  I  couldn't  have  done  it  to 
her." 

"You  love  her  still?"  whispers  Flora,  sympatheti- 
cally. 

"With  my  heart,  with  my  life,  with  my  soul!  How 
I  have  worked  for  that  woman !  Every  dollar  I  have 
earned  in  the  world  was  hers — to  throw  away.  And 
now — now — now!  It's  hard  lines  on  a  boy,  isn't  it? 
Never  treat  Von  Spitzer  so  after  you  have  made  him 
happy." 

This  last  with  a  little  giggle  that  loses  him  the  act- 
ress's sympathy  and  makes  her  hate  him,  for  she  doesn't 
love  Von  Spitzer,  though  she  finds  his  company  pleas- 
ant and  his  praise  very  agreeable  reading  in  the 
morning  papers. 

So  Claude  gets  in  the  habit  of  hanging  around  until 
all  the  rest  have  left  Mrs.  Montressor's  pleasant  par- 
lor. This  one  day  produces  an  awful  interview. 

"Why  don't  you  go  with  the  rest?  "  remarks  Evelyn, 
inhospitably. 

"I  would  like  another  cup  of  tea." 

"  With  pleasure.     Will  you  go  then?  " 

"  I  can't  when  I  think  of  old  times." 

•'You'll  have  to.  I  have  an  engagement  to  dine 
with  Mr.  Steinburgh." 

"Ah— h!" 

"Why  don't  you  take  Miss  Tollemache  out  to  din- 
ner? She's  probably  hungry  by  this  time." 

"  That's  all  over."     This  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 

"Since  when? "  This  is  an  incautious  question,  and 
Evelyn  knows  it  the  moment  it  has  slipped  her  pretty 
lips. 

The  answer  that  comes  back  is  an  awful  one,   "  Since 


100  HER   SENVTOR. 

you  had  me  forbidden  by  the  courts  to  marry  again. 
Ah,  what  a  cruel  wrong!  You  have  had  me  forbidden 
to  marry!  I,  a  man  of  domestic  instincts!  I  have 
now  no  hearth-stone  to  cling  to — I,  who  can  never 
marry !  " 

"Go  over  to  Jersey!"  says  Evie,  sharply.  "Across 
the  river  you  can  snap  your  fingers  at  New  York 
courts." 

The  answer  that  comes  shocks  her.  Claude  says  in 
a  broken  voice:  "I  haven't  the  three  cents  for  the 
ferry  ticket." 

It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  he,  cut  off  from  her 
financial  assistance,  should  be  absolutely  penniless. 
She  had  been  accustomed  to  provide  for  him  before ; 
why  should  she  not  assist  him  now  ? 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Claude,"  she  answers, 
trying  to  turn  the  matter  off  lightly,  though  it  affects 
her  more  than  she  wants  him  to  know.  "But  if  you 
will  accept  a  loan,  here  are  ten  dollars,"  and  with 
dainty  hand  extends  the  bill  lightly  to  him. 

The  answer  that  comes  shocks  her  still  more. 
"Couldn't  you  make  it  fifty,  Evie  ?"  he  says.  "You've 
got  lots  of  money  I  understand.  Steinbergh  has  helped 
you  out  in  stocks.  Couldn't  you  make  it  fifty  ?  " 

"Yes,  take  it  !  "  she  ejaculates  suddenly,  as  if  anx- 
ious to  get  him  out  of  her  sight.  And  he  goes  away 
leaving  her  almost  despising  herself  and  him  also.  She 
murmurs:  "Degrading  myself  by  giving  him  money, 
and  he  mean  enough  to  take  it !  " 

After  this  she  denies  herself  to  Mr.  Montressor  when 
he  would  call  upon  her.  She  has  plenty  of  excuse  for 
this  as  she  is  very  busy  now. 

It  is  nearly  the  end  of  June ;  everybody  is  flying  away 
from  New  York  heat  to  green  mountains  and  cool  sea 
breezes.  Rooms  have  been  engaged  for  her  and  Miss 
Atherton  in  Saratoga,  at  the  Windsor. 


HER  SENATOR.  101 

So,  a  little  before  ten  one  morning,  in  the  heat  of 
that  hottest  of  stations,  the  New  York  Central  Depot, 
beneath  its  burning-glass  dome,  Evelyn  Montressor  and 
Flora  Atherton  stand,  ready  to  take  the  Saratoga  ex- 
press. 

A  little  group  has  gathered  to  bid  them  good-by. 
Von  Spitzer,  effusive,  yet  cynical ;  Amadie,  fresh  from 
his  canvas,  bearing  in  his  hand  two  bouquets:  "One 
for  each  of  the  Group,"  he  says. 

"You'll  give  me  a  sitting  or  two,  both  of  you,  if  I 
come  up  to  Saratoga,  just  to  put  in  the  finishing 
touches,  just  a  flash  from  your  sapphire  eyes,  Madame 
Montressor;  just  the  ars  from  yours,  Miss  Ather- 
ton." 

"If  you're  good  en  tgh  to  run  up,  Amadie,  you 
can  paint  us  as  much  a.  you  like,"  replies  Flora. 

And  Evie  adds:  "A  little  breeze  will  do  you  good. 
Even  your  own  Naples  is  r  ;ver  hotter  than  this,"  as 
she  fans  herself  gracefully  and  languidly,  making  an 
exquisite  picture  in  her  light  summer  traveling  dress, 
which  is  breezy  and  cool-looking  from  fluffy  parasol  to 
dainty  bottines.  "You'll  be  coming  up,  too,  I  pre- 
sume," she  says,  turning  to  Mr.  Steinbergh,  who  makes 
a  picture  of  amiable  philanthropy,  being  laden  down  by 
books  to  read,  fruit  to  eat,  flowers  to  smell,  and  every- 
thing else  he  can  think  of  to  make  the  railroad  journey 
of  the  two  young  ladies  a  pleasant  one. 

"Yes,  later  on,  if  I  can  get  away  from  business." 

"To  which,  foolish  man,  you  make  yourself  the 
slave/'  answers  Mrs.  Montressor,  lightly.  "  If  I  were 
in  your  position  somebody  else  should  do  the  work." 

"Ah,  then  somebody  else  would  take  the  m«ney," 
laughs  Crcesus.  "  There  are  certain  things  that  only 
I  can  arrange.  If  I  go  for  a  month  to  Europe,  those 
awful  boys  on  the  Stock  Exchange  play  while  the 
cat's  away.  But  when  I  come  back,  ah  !  the  cat — but 


102  HER   SENATOR. 

I  will  carry  these  to  your  chairs  and  arrange  every* 
thing  for  you.  Be  sure  and  don't  miss  the  train.  You 
have  only  ten  minutes." 

Evie  is  rather  glad  it  is  only  ten  minutes,  for  she 
sees  Claude  standing  near  apparently  waiting  for  his 
turn  to  say  farewell,  which  he  does  in  gloomy  melo- 
dramatic style — with  a  grand  anti-climax  at  the  end. 

"You  don't  ask  me  to  visit  you  at  Saratoga  as  you 
did  your  financier,"  he  whispers  pathetically;  then 
breaks  out:  "But  I'm  coming  up,  just  the  same. 
And  have  a  care,  my  lady  !  Though  the  courts  have 
made  you  free  from  me,  I  haven't  yet  given  you  free- 
dom from  my  heart.  If  I  find  you  flirting — as  I  am 
sure  of,"  he  says  ruefully,  "look  out  for  me  !  "  This 
last  with  a  wild  roll  of  the  eyes  and  nasty  snarl. 

But  she  answers  him  :  "  You  will  find  me  flirting,  so 
you  can  come  prepared  to  make  yourself  as  disagreeable 
as  possible.  It's  a  habit  you've  got  into  lately. 
Between  ourselves,  I  don't  think  divorce  has  improved 
you." 

"Undo  it." 

"  Never  !     But  let  us  part  friends." 

"  Certainly,  friends  !  Couldn't  you,"  he  stammers, 
"couldn't  you  help  me  with  another  fifty?  It's  the 
summer  season;  Steinbergh  will  buy  no  more  of  my 
pictures.  I've  painted  three  upside  down  for  him 
already,  but  he  doesn't  seem  to  want  them." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  work  ?  " 

"Work!  How?  Act  in  summer?  There  are  no 
companies.  Would  you  condemn  me  to  the  horror  of 
continuous  performances  ?  Would  you  like  to  see  my 
name  announced  as  a  roof  garden  fiend  ?  " 

He  utters  this  so  dolefully  that  Evelyn  bursts  out 
laughing  as  she  passes  the  ticket  taker  and  is  delighted 
to  see  that  he  refuses  to  let  Claude  pass  after  her. 

A  minute  later  she  finds  herself  with  Miss  Atherton 


HER  SENATOR.  IOJ 

in  the  parlor  car.  Mr.  Steinbergh  has  arranged  their 
belongings.  He  is  talking  to  a  gentleman  whom  Evie 
has  not  seen  before. 

He  turns  to  her  and  says:  "You  have  never  met 
this  gentleman,  have  you,  Mrs.  Montressor  ?  "  laugh- 
ingly. 

"No,  I  don't — re — remember,"  stammers  Evie,  for 
the  introduction  is  a  strange  one. 

"  But  he  has  seen  you,"  chuckles  the  financier.  "  I 
suppose  he  looks  at  you  every  day.  Sometimes  I  pre- 
sume he  thinks  he  owns  you.  He  is  the  gentleman 
who  has  purchased  your  portrait,  the  one  Amadie 
painted.  Mrs.  Evelyn  Montressor,  permit  me  to 
introduce  a  gentleman  who  is  already  interested  in 
you — the  Honorable  Mr.  Guernsey  of  Populoso  !  " 

And  Evelyn  is  staring  straight  in  the  face  for  the 
first  time  of — "  HER  SENATOR." 


104  HER  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    SARATOGA    EXPRESS. 

The  gentleman  she  is  gazing  at  says  "  I  am  pleased 
to  meet  you — but  how  warm  you  look  !"  A  bright  flush 
is  on  Evie's  fair  face,  for  it  has  been  a  surprise,  almost 
a  shock  to  her  to  suddenly  encounter  this  man  who  has 
been  the  object  of  her  serious  thoughts  for  months — 
the  man  she  has  sworn  to  herself  to  make  her  football 
in  the  game  of  fortune — even  to  his  own  undoing. 

But  as  she  looks  at  him  a  sudden  thought  flies  into 
her  mind:  "CAN  I  ?" 

For  James  Bertram  Guernsey  has  a  face  that  for  one 
moment  makes  her  think  that  if  there  is  any  football 
kicking  to  do  he  will  be  the  one  to  do  it.  And  she 
cogitates  rather  ruefully :  ' '  If  he  kicks,  he'll  kick  hard. " 

Then,  though  she  is  talking  to  him  all  the  time  and 
telling  him  she  is  delighted  to  encounter  a  man  on  a 
summer  train  overloaded  with  women,  she  is  studying 
his  face. 

She  sees  a  massive  forehead ;  eyes  that  are  bright 
and  flashing  but  cautious,  an  under  jaw  of  bulldog  firm- 
ness; and  fears  she  can  never  do  it. 

Next  she  looks  at  his  lips  and  has  hope!  A  heavy 
mustache  just  tinged  with  gray  conceals  the  upper 
one,  but  the  lower  tells  the  tale — and  she  thinks 
she  can!  For  though  Doc.  Guernsey's  face  exhibits 
firmness  it  also  suggests  a  simplicity  of  nature  extraor- 
dinary in  one  who  has  made  his  mark  in  his  own  local- 
ity and  has  now  the  chance  of  making  a  name  in  the 
nation  itself.  But  it  is  not  this  that  gives  her  hope ;  it 
is  the  under  lip,  the  bowed  yet  full  under  lip,  the  one 


HER  SENATOR.  IO5 

that  shows  passion  yet- sensitiveness.  It  is  this  lip  that 
tells  her  that  the  Westerner  at  Koster  &  Bial's  spoke 
the  truth  when  he  remarked  that  Doc.  Guernsey  was 
unplowed  ground,  and  would  love  like  a  prairie  afire. 

Even  as  she  thinks  this,  Mr.  Steinbergh  is  taking  his 
leave  and  Mr.  Guernsey  has  been  introduced  to  Miss 
Atherton. 

A  moment  after  the  train  is  in  motion  and  with  whis- 
tle shrieking  and  bell  clanging,  runs  out  of  the  Grand 
Central  depot  into  the  tunnel  towards  Harlem.  In 
this  uncertain  light  Evie  can  no  longer  study  the  face  of 
the  gentleman  who  sits  just  opposite  her  on  the  other 
side  of  the  car. 

But  if  his  face  is  invisible,  his  voice  is  open  for  ex- 
amination. She  listens  to  his  conversation,  segregat- 
ing tone  from  everything  else,  and  finds  that  Mr. 
Guernsey  has  the  voice  of  a  pioneer.  His  voice  is  open 
and  frank  and  generally  his  speech  is  low,  but  there  is 
a  ring  in  it  that  makes  her  know  that  if  he  opened  his 
mouth  he  could  raise  a  camp  meeting. 

"You  young  ladies  are  going  to  Saratoga?  So  am 
I.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Montressor,  I  know  that  you  are 
married,  still  you'll  excuse  me  calling  you  young.  Out 
our  way  the  girls  never  object  to  it.  On  the  prairies 
we  say,  '  Plain  truth  and  no  offense,  never  makes  a 
man  draw  his  gun.'  " 

"Neither  do  the  girls  out  our  way  object  to  it," 
laughs  Evelyn.  "You  could  even  call  a  Fifth  avenue 
damsel  youthful  and  escape  with  your  life,  though  she 
might  be  dangerous  to  you  in  another  way." 

Her  laugh  is  echoed  by  a  musical  guffaw  from  the 
gentleman  opposite.  Then  suddenly  Guernsey  re- 
marks: "Great  Scott!  There's  a  baby  being 
spanked." 

"No,  it  was  only  me  laughing"  giggles  Flora. 

"  Laughing  ? "  mutters  the  astonished  Senator,  then 


106  HER  SENATOR. 

he  adds  contemplatively:  "Would  you  mind  letting 
me  hear  you  cry,  young  lady?  I  think  it  would  be 
more  exhilarating." 

At  which  Mrs.  Montressor  interjects:  "Haven't you 
seen  Miss  Atherton  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  No;  is  she  an  actress  ?  " 

"Yes,  our  most  celebrated  of  ingtnucs.  When  she 
cries  the  house  laughs,  and  when  she  laughs  the  house 
cries." 

At  which  Miss  Atherton  gives  another  titter  that 
makes  Mr.  Guernsey  ejaculate  in  playful  voice: 
"  Please  don't.  I  am  a  humane  man  and  I  hate  to  lis- 
ten to  suffering." 

And  they  all  go  into  another  burst  of  merriment  that 
takes  them  out  of  the  tunnel  and  lasts  them  across  the 
Harlem  river  where  a  slight  breeze  gives  them  a  little 
relief  from  the  intolerable  heat  of  New  York  in 
summer. 

A  few  minutes  after  they  are  running  up  the  banks 
of  the  Hudson,  cooler  than  ever,  happier  than  ever, 
and  having  a  jolly  time,  Flora  telling  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Guernsey  that  she  will  cry  for  him  some  day,  just 
to  make  him  enjoy  himself.  On  this  Doc.  Guernsey 
looking  at  her  thinks  her  pale  beauty  very  engaging, 
and  gazing  at  her  fair  lips  does  not  guess  that  he  has 
given  them  the  first  kiss  they  have  received  on  earth — 
but  that  was  a  long  time  ago. 

Then  turning  his  eyes  upon  the  other  one,  the  sun- 
light coming  in  upon  her  fair  hair  and  gilding  her 
exquisite  face  and  graceful  figure,  Evie  seems  to  his 
Western  soul  idealized  beauty.  He  mutters  to  himself 
with  characteristic  pioneer  frankness:  "Her  picture 
was  a  wonder;  but  here  nature  lays  out  art." 

It  is  with  this  in  his  mind  that  he  startles  Evelyn 
with  these  words:  "You'll  excuse  my  si^^g  you  up, 
Mrs.  Montressor." 


HER  SENATOR.  107 

"I?  Why,  certainly 1 — "  And  blushes — rose- 
like  blushes — add  to  her  loveliness. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  bashful.  I  have  studied  you 
before.  You'll  pardon  my  saying  that  I  thought  the 
Italian  Amadie  was  a  good  artist,  and  now  I  know  he's 
a  bad  one." 

"  Why,  the  painting  is  said  to  be  superb  !  " 

"Yes,  but — you'll  pardon  Western  frankness — it 
doesn't  touch  you.  But  don't  get  mad,  sissy;  you're 
not  offended  ?  " 

To  this  she  mutters,  '"No!  "with  drooping  head, 
for  as  she  has  looked  at  his  face,  which  is  honest  and 
open,  she  has  become  ashamed  of  the  plot  in  her  mind 
against  this  gentleman,  and  would  forgive  him  even 
now  were  it  not  that  she  remembers  his  father. 

Each  time  that  Sallie  laughs  it  recalls  the  Shepherd's 
Fold  and  Guernsey's  father,  and  Evie's  heart  hardens 
to  the  statesman,  though  her  manner  is  suavity  itself; 
and  she  is  as  kind  to  him  as  Eve  was  when  she  offered 
to  Adam  the  apple  that  she  knew  would  be  his  ruin  and 
damnation. 

And,  like  Adam,  Guernsey  promptly  accepts  the 
apple.  Every  smile  she  gives  him,  every  light  laugh  of 
hers,  seems  to  please  him  more  and  more.  He  has  a 
pretty  good  opinion  of  himself  already — most  United 
States  Senators  have — but  before  they  have  passed 
Peekskill  Doc.  Guernsey  thinks  he  is  a  born  fascinater 
of  women.  He  cannot  help  it.  She  makes  him  think 
so.  It  is  not  his  vanity  that  causes  this;  it  is  the  brill- 
iant art  of  a  subtle  woman,  who  charms  men  by  making 
them  think  they  know  so  much  more  than  she  does. 
She  lingers  on  his  words  as  he  tells  of  the  financial 
situation;  she  admits  that  the  white  metal  is  the 
proper  medium  of  exchange,  for  he  is  a  silver  man. 
When  he  speaks  of  Wall  street  and  grinds  his  teeth, 
her  cherry  lips  murmur*  .,"  Villains  !  Gold  bugs  and 


jo8  HER  SENATOR. 

blood-suckers!"    forgetting  poor  absent  Steinbergh. 
Then  Eve  plays  a  master  stroke.     She  asks  Guernsey 

WHAT  HIS  CHANCES  ARE  FOR  THE  PRESIDENCY. 

"My  name  has  not  yet  been  mentioned,"  mutters 
the  delighted  politician.  Then  he  says,  impressively, 
"I  am  still  the  dark  horse,"  and  visions  of  the  White 
House  fill  his  senatorial  soul. 

In  fact,  she  turns  Doc.  Guernsey's  somewhat  hard 
head  with  the  softest,  subtlest  feminine  flattery  that 
can  be  given,  that  of  recognition  of  his  gigantic  intel- 
lect, that  of  making  him  think  what  he  doesn't  know, 
nobody  knows,  that  he  holds  Populoso  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand,  and  has  a  political  mortgage  on  the  destinies 
of  the  whole  of  the  United  States. 

If  she  had  pretended  to  love  him  that  would  not  have 
inflamed  his  heart.  Other  girls  had  done  that  before. 
But  Evelyn  Montressor  has  a  very  bright  mind,  and  it 
is  well  stocked  with  general  knowledge.  She  is  indebted 
also  to  Mr.  Steinbergh's  desultory  remarks  for  some 
cursory  political  and  financial  ideas.  These  she  turns 
to  marvelous  use,  making  the  United  States  Senator- 
elect  think  that  she  knows  a  great  deal,  but  flattering 
him  most  craftily  by  causing  him  to  imagine  that  she 
thinks  he  knows  very  much  more. 

It  is  the  way  to  the  hearts  of  a  certain  class  of  men, 
and  no  quicker  path  can  be  taken  by  woman.  They 
might  turn  from  a  woman's  beauty,  they  might  be  bored 
by  her  love,  but  they  will  be  fascinated  by  her  defer- 
ence. It  is  the  masculine  love  of  dominion  over 
women  that  has  displayed  itself  in  one  way  or  another 
in  all  lands,  in  all  ages;  in  the  harems  of  Turkey,  in  the 
seraglios  of  the  Persian,  in  the  domination  of  the  Ger- 
man husband,  in  the  stern  rule  of  the  Russian  lord 
and  master,  in  the  burying  of  African  women  when 
their  husbands  die,  in  the  burning  of  Hindu  widows  en 
their  husband's  f unef al  pyres  —  a  passion  that  is 


HER   SENATOR.  lOp 

teJ  hi  the  heart  of  man  and  one  that  the  new 
woman  herself  will  never  be  able  to  overcome.  She 
may  make  the  new  man  acknowledge  her  equality,  she 
may,  in  fact,  demonstrate  her  superiority,  but  as  long 
as  she  does  not  bow  down  to  him  either  in  fact  or  in 
pretense,  he  will  never  live  her — never — NEVER!  Man 
loves  what  clings  to  him,  man  loves  what  he  supports, 
man  loves  what  he  protects! 

But  Doc.  Guernsey  does  not  inalyze  his  feelings. 

They  are  too  pleasant  to  bt  dissected.  Who  ever 
separates  the  various  flavors  in  strawberries  and  cream, 
or  segregates  the  sour  from  the  sweet  in  lemonade, 
or  the  numerous  perfumes  in  an  exquisite  bouquet? 

All  Guernsey  knows  is  that  somehow  the  lunch 
he  eats  in  the  dining-car,  though  a  poo*  one,  as  is 
quite  usual  on  the  New  York  Central,  is  tne  /leasant- 
est  which  he  has  ever  eaten.  There  is  music  ;n  the 
air,  as  he  expresses  it,  sweeter  than  any  brass 
band.  For  Doc.  Guernsey  is  not  yet  become  a  haoituc" 
of  the  opera,  and  denotes  all  bodies  of  musicians  pro- 
ducing  melody  and  harmony  as  "brass  bands."  He 
has  forgotten  his  Yale  training;  he  has  lived  in  the 
West  and  has  become  of  it.  He  has  assented  to  its  here- 
sies, financial  and  otherwise ;  he  has  accepted  its  gen- 
erosity, its  grandeur,  its  know-everything-ness,  all  in 
a  lump. 

Lunch  being  over,  Evelyn  devotes  herself  tc» 
amusing  him  and  entertaining  herself,  for  she  has 
grown  interested  in  this  gentleman,  whom  she  is  flat- 
tering. She  has  bowed  down  to  him  until  she  has 
commenced  to  believe  that  a  little  of  what  she  has 
hinted  is  true,  that  he  does  know  a  great  deal;  for 
Guernsey  talks  well  from  his  standpoint,  and  is  already 
up  in  half  a  dozen  speeches  that  he  expects  to  deliver 
in  the  United  States  Senate;  a  few  short  excerpts 
from  which  he  occasionally  gives  her,  in  the  course  of 


tlO  HER    SENATOR. 

his  conversation,  in  well-rounded  periods  and  good 
solid  Saxon  English. 

So  the  two  get  to  flattering  each  other,  a  very  pleas- 
ant occupation  and  one  that  most  men  and  women  like. 
They  commence  to  think  well  of  each  other;  the  time 
runs  into  the  afternoon  very  quickly.  They  are  near- 
ing  Saratoga. 

Then  comes  the  most  subtle  flattery  a  man  can  give 
to  a  woman  who  has  "Mrs."  as  a  prefix  to  her  name. 
Guernsey  begins  to  hint  as  to  Evie's  present  static 
domesticity.  He  does  this  very  delicately,  for  he  has 
the  heart  of  a  gentleman  which  always  carries  with  it 
the  instincts  of  one. 

"  It  seems  rather  curious  to  call  you  Mrs.  Montres- 
sor,  do  you  know? "  he  remarks  contemplatively. 

"Why  not?     It  is  my  name." 

"Yes,  but  you  seem  so  young  to  be  married.  Your 
— your  husband — "  he  hesitates  a  little  over  the  last 
word — "is  coming  I  suppose  often  to  Saratoga?" 

"  My  husband  is  a  thing  of  the  past." 

"You  are  a  widow?"  he  gasps  impulsively — trium- 
phantly. 

At  the  word  a  wild  flush  of  joy  flies  over  the 
face  of  Evelyn.  She  knows  she  has  him  on  the 
hip;  she  knows  if  she  plays  her  cards  without  serious 
mistake  Doc.  Guernsey's  heart  will  yet  palpitate  in  her 
fair  hand. 

"Yes,"  she  mutters,  drooping  her  head,  for  a  little 
of  the  widow's  art  has  come  to  her  with  divorce.  She 
hardly  looks  at  him,  but  is  conscious  there  is  a  new 
light  in  her  cavalier's  eyes  and  a  flush  of  emotion 
apparently  joyous,  on  the  Western  Senator's  cheeks,  as 
he  mutters:  "A  widow — well!  well!" 

Then  she  turns  the  conversation,  thinking  it  is  perhaps 
as  well  that  he  does  not  question  her  too  closely  in  re- 
gard to  the  death  of  her  ex-spouse,  who  is  at  present 


HER   SENATOR.  Ill 

attempting  to  make  life  easy  at  Coney  Island  with  the 
fifty  dollars  donation  she  had  given  him  at  the  New 
York  Central  Depot. 

"You  have  never  been  to  Saratoga?"  asks  Evelyn. 

"Once,  when  I  was  a  boy,  but  I  imagine  the  place 
is  changed.  Besides,  things  look  differently  to  the  eyes 
of  youth,"  he  says  with  a  sigh,  for  at  this  moment  Doc. 
Guernsey  would  almost  give  up  his  United  States  Sen- 
atorship  to  be  a  few  years  younger. 

The  answer  of  the  widow  makes  him  happy. 
"  Pshaw!  "  she  says  lightly.  "You  have  not  lost  the 
eyes  of  boyhood.  No  man  has  who  pretends  to  be  old. 
I  suppose,  though,  an  assumption  of  age  is  necessary  for 
your  dignity  as  a  United  States  Senator;  "  then  mur- 
murs contemplatively:  "The  youngest  member  of  the 
body." 

"Yes,  I'm  years  ahead  of  my  time  in  politics," 
answers  the  gentleman  in  confident  rapture.  "  Though 
I'm  a  Senator  I  haven't  forgot,  thank  God,  how  to  be 
a  boy !  But  where  are  you  going  to  stay  at  the  Springs  ?" 
His  tone  is  eager. 

Here  the  widow  suddenly  becomes  very  bashful. 
"For  a  few  days,"  she  says,  hesitatingly,  "Miss 
Atherton  and  I  remain  at  the  Windsor.  Afterwards,  if 
we  can  obtain  one,  we  propose  taking  a  little  cottage. 
You  see,  having  no  gentleman  with  us,  we  think  it 
would  be  in  better  taste  not  to  spend  the  season  at  one 
of  the  great  hotels." 

"  Yes,  much  better,"  he  answers.  "  Two  such  chil- 
dren as  you  should  not  be  left  to  run  about  alone," 
then  adds,  a  tone  of  eagerness  in  his  suggestion:  "If 
you  want  any  masculine  advice  or  assistance,  you'll  not 
forget  that  I  am  at  the  Windsor  also. " 

Evelyn  looks  at  him  rather  archly  at  this,  and  Sallie, 
who  has  been  apparently  engrossed  in  a  novel,  sud- 
denly ejaculates:  "Why,  only  five  minutes  ago  yp|* 


11*  HER   SENATOR. 

had  your  baggage  checked  to  the  Grand  Union !  How 
quick  you  men  change  your  minds!"  A  remark  that 
brings  a  slight  flush  of  embarrassment  upon  the  Sena- 
tor's cheeks. 

"  I  always  change  my  mind,"  returns  Guernsey,  de- 
terminedly, "when  I  find  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I 
glanced  through  the  guide-book  only  ten  seconds  ago 
and  discovered  that  the  Windsor  was  on  a  hill.  Being 
a  mountain  man,  I  like  elevated  positions. " 

Then  Evelyn  plays  another  subtle  stroke.  She 
replies  frankly :  "lam  glad  you  do.  Will  you  not, 
since  you  are  to  stay  at  the  same  hotel,  lend  dignity  to 
our  table  by  taking  the  head  of  it  ?" 

"Won't  I,"  says  the  Senator,  eagerly.  "Don't 
either  of  you  girls  trouble  yourselves.  I  will  make  all 
the  arrangements.  I  am  here  alone,  you  know.  The 
rest  of  my  family  are  in  Europe." 

"Family?"  falters  Mrs.  Montressor. 

"Yes,  my  sister.  She  sailed  two  weeks  ago.  My 
father — "  his  tone  is  reverent  and  loving,  "died  last 
year.  Don't  trouble  yourselves,  I  am  bossing  this  job, 
as  they  say  out  West." 

And  he  springs  up  and  gives  directions  with  regard 
vo  their  hand  satchels  and  makes  arrangements  for  a 
carriage,  for  the  train  is  already  in  the  Saratoga 
depot. 

Looking  at  him  as  he  does  so,  with  the  energy  of 
youth  in  his  limbs  and  the  flush  of  delight  upon  his  face, 
Evelyn  Montressor  almost  repents — but  not  quite! 

She  sees  the  band  of  mourning  upon  his  hat.  "  It  is 
for  his  father,"  she  mutters  to  herself,  and  steels  her 
heart  against  the  gentleman  who  all  this  afternoon  has 
been  trying  to  make  her  journey  a  pleasant  one. 

But  her  voice  has  none  of  the  bitterness  of  her  heart 
as  she  replies  to  Guernsey's  cheery  "Trot  along,  girls!" 
and  her  eyes  gaze  innocently  into  his  as  he  assists  her 


HER   SENATOR.  11$ 

from  the  Pullman  car,  across  the  platform  and  into  the 
carriage  that  he  has  engaged. 

Two  minutes  after  they  turn  into  the  main  street  of 
the  watering-place,  and  Sallie,  who  has  never  seen 
Saratoga  before,  shrieks:  "  Oh,  my!  a  town  on  a  pic- 
nic." 

And  she  is  right.  It  fs  a  town  on  a  picnic — at  least 
it  looks  so.  The  long  perspective  of  green  trees  run- 
ning up  and  down  the  broad  avenue  that  is  lined  by 
gigantic  hotels,  upon  the  piazzas  of  which  the  orches- 
tras  are  playing  merrily,  the  dashing  equipages  filled 
with  ladies  in  the  light  toilets  of  summer  with  wav- 
ing parasols  and  whips  bedecked  with  ribbons — thft 
hub-bub  of  Broadway  transported  to  green  trees 
and  made  light,  brilliant  and  almost  tropical  by  soft 
sunshine  and  diversified  by  nearly  every  type  of  hu- 
manity in  the  United  States.  Planters  from  the 
South,  cattle  men  from  the  West,  Yankee  manufac- 
turers  from  New  England,  business  men  from  New 
York,  bookmakers  from  the  race  track,  invalids  for 
the  waters,  mingled  with  beautiful  women  from  every- 
where, are  punctuated  by  the  woolly  heads  of  hundreds 
of  negroes,  the  waiters  of  the  great  hotels. 

From  this  melange  comes  up  the  buzz  of  happj 
laughter  and  eager  speech,  over  all  this  floats  the 
atmosphere  of  sport.  That's  what  takes  the  populace 
to  Saratoga — SPORT  !  The  town  is  always  on  a  picnic. 

Dashing  up  this  street,  rounding  Congress  Park  with 
its  pagodas,  passing  the  Pompeian  House,  they  turn 
the  corner  and  draw  up  in  front  of  the  Windsor. 

Half  a  dozen  bell  boys,  each  one  bearing  the  tra» 
ditional  dust  brush  in  his  jacket  pocket,  fly  down  to 
meet  them.  In  a  flash  their  hand  baggage  is  at  the 
office ;  two  minutes  later  the  ladies  have  said  adieu  to  Mr. 
Guernsey  and  are  whisked  up  in  the  elevator  to  their 
rooms  to  remove  the  dust  of  travel  and  enjoy  a  siesta. 


114  H£R  SENATOR. 

At  the  dinner  hour  they  come  down,  looking  fresher 
and  lovelier  than  ever,  and  in  the  dining  room  find  Mr. 
Guernsey  is  a  man  of  his  word. 

A  pretty  little  table  with  seats  ior  three  has  been 
arranged  for  them,  and  they  enjoy  the  excellent 
cuisine  of  the  hotel,  mingled  with  strains  from  an 
orchestra  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  altogether  make 
a  pleasant  dinner  of  it. 

Afterwards  on  the  veranda  the  ladies  chat  while  their 
escort  enjoys  his  cigar.  Their  conversation  is  light, 
flippant,  even  merry,  the  Senator  telling  them  some  of 
his  famous  western  stories — a  few  of  them  anecdotes  of 
his  younger  days  when  buffalo  were  plenty  and  Indians 
still  on  the  warpath.  In  one  of  them  he  chances  to 
mention  his  father  as  a  man  of  noble  heart,  and  then 
could  he  notice  the  fair  widow's  eyes,  they  would  be 
a  warning;  but  he  chats  unconsciously  on. 

The  evening  is  ideal ;  they  are  all  apparently  very 
happy,  though  Mrs.  Montressor's  speech  and  manner 
are  more  guarded,  perhaps  more  formal  than  on  the 
train  in  the  afternoon.  She  keeps  her  gentleman  very 
deftly  at  a  distance,  though  in  bidding  him  good  evening 
her  eyes  droop  before  the  frank  expression  of  his  face. 
His  good-natured  bonhomie  and  kindly  speech  affect 
her  more  than  she  likes;  for  on  getting  to  her  own 
room  for  the  night  she  has  a  fearful  scene  with  her- 
self. Conscience  smites  her  very  hard. 

"It  is  an  ignoble  plot,"  she  mutters.  "I  would 
spare  him  if  he  wouldn't  tell  me  his  father  was  a  good 
man!  After  this  I  must  tutor  my  face  when  he  men- 
tions that  accursed  villain! " 

As  for  Guernsey,  the  effect  upon  him  of  the  day  has 
been  very  different.  He  smokes  three  cigars  contem- 
platively on  the  veranda  after  the  ladies  have  left  him, 
then  mutters  slowly  to  himself:  "  By  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, she's  beautiful  as  Eve  in  Paradise!  Her  face 


HER   SENATOR.  11$ 

is  like    a   rosebud,    her  figure  like  a — Gee   Whizz!" 
For  Guernsey  has  a  mental  souvenir  in  his  eye  of  an 

exquisite  ankle  as  he  has  assisted  the  fair  widow  from 

the  train,  and  he  hasn't  forgotten  it. 
Ah!  Naughty  Evelyn  I 


Cl6  HER  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"HIS  GAL!" 

THE  next  morning  the  world  looks  very  bright  to  the 
Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey  as  he  enters  the  dining- 
room  to  find  his  breakfast  table  made  very  charming  by 
the  two  graceful  young  ladies  he  has  escorted  from  New 
York,  both  pictures  of  summer  simplicity,  in  white 
dresses  and  broad  sashes,  who  greet  him  with  unaf- 
fected yet  kindly  good  mornings. 

But  his  eye  rests  not  so  long  upon  the  drooping  love- 
liness of  the  actress  as  upon  the  vision  in  pure  white ; 
for  Evie  this  day  depends  for  her  color  effects  on  her 
blushing  cheeks  and  blue  eyes,  which  give  to  her  vivac- 
ity, playfulness  and  sometimes,  perchance,  haughty 
dignity. 

The  conversation  of  the  two  young  ladies  is  so 
lively,  that  Mr.  Guernsey  forgets  to  read  his  paper 
at  the  breakfast  table,  a  thing  he  has  not  omitted 
within  his  memory.  News,  politics,  business,  all  go 
out  of  his  head  as  he  listens  to  his  fair  companions  of 
the  knife  and  fork.  But  he  has  not  yet  lost  his  appe- 
tite— that,  perchance,  will  come  later. 

"Well,  girls,"  he  says  heartily,  "as  we  are  out  for 
a  frolic  and  came  here  to  enjoy  ourselves,  let  us  throw 
care  to  the  peacocks  outside,"  pointing  to  one  of  the 
birds  of  paradise  that  is  strutting  over  the  lawn  just 
across  the  street,  "and  do  the  town! " 

"  I  don't  think  even  so  rushing  a  gentleman  as  you 
can  do  Saratoga  in  one  day!  "  laughs  Evie. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  remarks  the  Senator,  "  though  Sara- 
toga did  one  of  my  friends  in  one  night.  Will  Fisher, 
the  Denver  cattle  man,  fought  it  out  with  the  tiger,  and 


-      HER  SENATOR.  117 

returned  to  Colorado  to  spend  the  balance  of  the  summer 
there.  His  description  of  his  night  at  the  club  here  is 
something  terrific,  though  he  only  tells  the  story  when 
he  gets  drunk." 

"Very  well,  let  us  do  it  in  sections,"  remarks  Flora. 
The  other  two  agreeing  to  this  proposition,  as  soon 
as  Guernsey  has  finished  his  after-breakfast  cigar,  they 
stroll  over  to  that  peculiar  exhibition  entitled  the  Villa 
of  Pansa,  a  reproduction  of  one  of  the  Roman  houses 
dug  up  from  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  and  restored  after  its 
burial  of  eighteen  centuries.  Filled  with  ancient  stat- 
uary and  the  buried  treasures  of  lost  arts,  the  place 
looks  as  real  as  it  did  in  the  time  of  Titus.  And  stand- 
ing by  the  little  fountain  in  the  atrium,  Evelyn,  in  her 
white,  almost  classic,  robe,  looks  to  the  Senator  as  if 
she  were  a  Roman  goddess;  and  when  a  Western  man's 
mind  gets  to  weaving  the  imagery  of  the  ancients  and 
reveling  in  poetic  phantasies,  he  is  in  a  very  dangerous 
condition. 

"Flora,  if  you  only  had  bare  feet  adorned  by  san- 
dals, you  would  look  like  Nydia,  Bulwer's  heroine,  the 
blind  girl  of  Pompeii,"  remarks  Mrs.  Montressor, 
meditatively. 

"What,  are  my  eyes  so  dull  ?  "  ejaculates  Flora,  and 
her  voice  has  such  a  plaint  in  it  that  Mr.  Guernsey 
bursts  into  laughter. 

"I  told  you  if  I  cried  you'd  laugh,"  murmurs  the 
comedienne,  and  she  gives  them  a  moue  that  sets 
Evie  giggling  also. 

Then  Mr.  Guernsey  remarks:  "After  all,  a  log  cabin 
would  be  more  pleasant  to  live  in  than  this  white 
marble  gilded  sepulchre.  Did  you  ever  see  a  more  un- 
comfortable habitation  ?  " 

"Yes,  ONE!  "replies  Mrs.  Montressor  slowly;  and 
getting  to  thinking  of  the  home  his  father  and  Mawley 
had  given  to  her,  despite  herself,  sb^  favors  the  affable 


Ii8  HER   SENATOR. 

Western  gentleman  with  several  glances  that  startle 
him. 

"  Great  Scott!  What  have  I  done  to  offend  you  ?  "  he 
falters. 

"You — you  laughed  at  Flora !"  she  stammers,  and 
bestows  on  him  another  savage  glare. 

"  So  did  you!  "  he  mutters  astounded. 

"Yes,  I  permit  myself  liberties  with  my  friend,"  she 
replies,  putting  her  arm  around  the  girl's  waist,  "that 
I  don't  allow  to  others." 

"  I  see  you  do,"  remarks  Guernsey;  "  very  pleasant 
ones." 

At  this  they  all  burst  out  laughing. 

A  moment  after  their  escort,  looking  at  his  watch, 
ejaculates,  "  How  time  flies!  " 

And  it  has  with  him,  for  it  is  already  the  lunch 
hour. 

So  they  walk  back  to  the  hotel,  and  three  hours 
afterwards  drive  out  along  the  beautiful  road  to  the 
lake  where  they  take  their  dinner  in  the  early  evening 
at  Moon's,  and  come  back  by  electric  light. 

Altogether  they  have  had  a  very  pleasant  day  of  it, 
at  least  the  Honorable  Doc.  Guernsey  thinks  so, 
though  Evelyn  has  been  to  him  a  little  more  distant 
than  she  was  during  the  railway  journey,  only  once  or 
twice  very  craftily  making  his  heart  leap  by  a  veiled 
glance  or  two. 

"  Isn't  he  splendid?"  whispers  Flora  to  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  as  they  part  at  the  door  of  her  room.  "I — I 
love  him  already." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  remarks  Mrs.  Montressor  coldly. 

"Yes,"  replies  the  comedienne  impulsively.  "He 
has  such  a  fatherly  way  with  him." 

"  Has  he  ?"  murmurs  Evie,  and  goes  suddenly  into 
her  room.  There  she  mutters  to  herself:  "  Has  he  a 
fatherly  way  ?  Not  with  me !  To  me  has  come  the 


HER   SENATOR.  119 

widow's  instinct.  I  know  I  have  given  him  a  throb  or 
two;  "  then  sighs:  "and  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for 
it." 

But  in  the  next  week  Mr.  Guernsey  gets  no  evidence 
of  this;  though  Evelyn's  manner  is  cordial,  it  is  no 
more,  save  for  an  occasional  glance  that  lifts  him,  as 
he  expresses  it  to  himself  in  Western  fashion,  "out  of 
his  boots. "  She  accepts  his  escort  to  morning  concerts 
at  the  United  States  and  evening  hops  at  the  Grand 
Union  with  a  frankness  and  ease  that  indicates,  per- 
haps indifference,  certainly  not  empressement  ;  still 
in  that  melange  called  "  society  "  by  the  loiterers  of  the 
Saratoga  hotels  she  accepts  no  escort  but  the  Hon. 
James  B.  Guernsey,  United  States  Senator  elect. 

As  for  Miss  Atherton,  she  has  already  forgotten  the 
fascinations  of  the  art  critic  Van  Spitzer  in  the  attrac- 
tions and  attentions  of  two  or  three  of  the  beaux  of 
Saratoga  society ;  among  them,  young  Mr.  Slammer,  of 
the  Racing  Association,  who  has  a  penchant  for  the 
ladies  of  the  stage,  and  Harry  Cordage,  of  Wall  street, 
who  thinks  her  teary  eyes  "good  things  to  go  long 
of,"  as  he  expresses  it. 

So  the  days  run  along  brightly,  even  pleasantly,  until 
one  day  Evie  gets  a  shock.  This  comes,  as  thunder 
and  lightning  are  apt  to  do,  from  a  clear  sky. 

She  has  been  taking  a  little  morning  walk  alone  and 
unattended,  and  has  strolled  from  the  Windsor  down 
the  hill  into  Congress  Park.  Here  she  is  sitting 
carelessly  on  a  bench  listening  to  a  morning  concert 
by  the  band.  There  is  the  usual  procession,  peculiar 
to  mornings  in  Congress  Park,  moving  along  the  asphalt 
past  her;  bright  servant  girls  are  pursuing  runaway 
children;  nurses  are  toting  babies  in  their  arms;  a  few 
ladies  and  gentlemen  are  strolling  about,  and  two  men 
are  seated  on  a  bench  at  an  angle  to  herself  talking 
carelessly  together. 


120  HER  SENATOR. 

The  band  is  playing  loudly ;  she  does  not  hear  their 
conversation. 

Suddenly  the  music  ceases,  and  words  smite  her  ears 
with  vivid  startle  and  effect. 

"You've  just  come  from  Silveropolis,  haven't  you  ?" 
queries  one. 

"Yes,  arrived  at  the  Springs  this  morning.  I  came 
up  to  see  Guernsey.  I  want  a  promise  of  an  appropri- 
ation for  the  navigation  of  Battle  Creek.  It  runs 
through  my  ranch,  and  I  think  if  the  government  would 
build  a  few  irrigating  dams  up  at  the  head  waters  of 
it,  it  would  improve  my  property.  He's  here,  ain't  he  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes;  the  old  man's  up  here  as  big  as  life,  and 
would  you  swallow  it — "  here  the  speaker  chuckles  to 
himself —  "  he's  going  it  like  sin,  and  has  got  a. gal.'" 

"War-whoops!  Got  a  gal  ?  The  old  straightlace, 
you  don't  mean  it! " 

"Yes,  siree;  he's  got  his  brand  on  one,  '  G.  G.,' 
Guernsey's  Gal !  And  if  she  ain't  a  screamer,  Indians 
ain't  horse  thieves! " 

"He's  got  a  girl!"  falters  Evie  with  a  sudden 
start;  and  rising  hastily  walks  past  these  gentlemen, 
who  are  strangers  to  her,  giving  them  a  rather  haughty 
glance,  as  if  to  rebuke  their  careless  tongues  ;  at  which 
the  one  who  has  made  the  remark  gets  very  red  in  the 
face. 

As  she  wanders  out  of  the  park  her  heart  grows 
bitter  and  she  mutters  :  "Got  a  gal/  The  frank- 
faced  hypocrite  ! " 

For  a  moment  she  is  half  stunned,  then  suddenly  into 
her  mind  comes  a  curious  emotion,  half  curiosity,  per- 
chance half  anger,  with  a  tinge — though  she  will  not 
admit  it — of  what  every  woman  has,  jealousy.  Not 
that  she  loves  Doc.  Guernsey,  oh,  no  !  But  still  she 
has  at  least  thought  herself  first  in  his  attentions  at 
this  watering-place. 


HER  SENATOR.  12  X 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  she  thinks.  "Who  is  she  ? "  Then 
laughs,  a  nasty  sneer  in  her  tone  :  "He's  got  his 
brand  on  her;  I  should  know  her."  And  clenching 
her  little  hand  she  mutters:  "What  a  hypocrite  he  is, 
Mr.  Sly-boots  Guernsey  !  " 

And  Evelyn's  manner  when  she  meets  the  senator 
from  the  West  is  very  cool  and  haughty ;  but  though 
she  throws  out  very  deft  and  guarded  hints  to  Flora 
and  one  or  two  other  ladies  whose  acquaintance  she  has 
made,  she  gets  no  satisfaction  on  this  point.  She  is, 
of  course,  compelled  to  approach  the  subject  with  the 
most  round-about  diplomacy,  and  either  no  one  under- 
stands her,  or  no  one  will  rise  to  her  gossipy  innuen- 
deos  and  suggestions. 

But  this  hurries  a  certain  arrangement  that  she  has 
already  in  her  mind,  for  the  very  day  after  this  Mrs. 
Montressor  informs  Mr.  Guernsey  that  she  and  Miss 
Atherton  purpose  taking  a  little  cottage  in  pretty  Cir- 
cular street  that  skirts  the  upper  edge  of  Congress 
Park. 

"We  think  of  setting  up  Spinster's  Hall,"  says  Evie. 
"At  least,  Flora  does.  I  presume  /should  call  it  the 
Widow's  Retreat,"  she  adds,  mayhap  a  little  coyly. 

"By  George!  if  you  don't  look  out  the  boys  will 
come  round  and  make  it  Matrimonial  Villa,"  suggests 
the  Senator  jovially.  Then  he  says,  a  little  hesitation 
in  his  voice:  "  I  suppose  I — I  can  come  round  ? " 

"Yes,  as  one  of  the  boys!"  cries  Flora  Atherton, 
impulsively,  at  which  the  Western  magnate  grows  red 
about  the  face,  and  Evie  turns  away  biting  her  lip  with 
rage  at  herself,  because  she  is  blushing  also. 

But  it  is  a  most  effective  blush.  It  is  a  blush  that 
makes  the  Honorable  Doc.  Guernsey  toss  that  night 
uneasily  on  his  pillow ;  he  who  has  defied  the  dart  of 
the  Saratoga  mosquito. 

This  arrangement  would  have  doubtless  been  very 


122  HER   SENATOR. 

shortly  made,  were  it  not  for  an  incident  that  takes 
place  the  next  day.  They  have  an  engagement  to  go 
driving  in  the  afternoon  to  the  lake,  and  the  Senator 
has  suggested  a  little  dinner  afterwards  at  Riley's  at 
Lake  Lonely. 

The  party  consists  of  Flora,  young  Slammer,  Evie, 
and  the  Senator,  who  is  in  a  very  contented,  easy-going 
state  of  mind,  as  Mrs.  Montressor's  austerity  to  him 
has  relaxed,  for  Evelyn  finding  no  confirmation  of  the 
on  dit  she  has  heard  in  regard  to  "  Doc.  Guernsey's 
gal,  "and  never,  in  her  various  wanderings  at  the  hotels 
or  parks  or  any  place  of  resort  in  Saratoga,  having  en- 
countered this  young  lady,  has  made  up  her  mind  that 
the  conversation  she  heard  in  Congress  Park  was  merely 
the  idle  babble  of  some  Western  man  who  wished  to 
impress  the  new  comer  from  his  section  with  his  knowl- 
edge of  things  scandalous  in  Saratoga. 

She  is,  therefore,  at  her  best,  for  her  mind  is  bright 
and  her  face  smiling,  as  she  holds  out  a  little  gloved 
hand,  and  permits  the  gallant  from  Populoso  to  assist 
her  into  the  carriage,  which  he  does  with  a  hearty 
good  will,  a  strong  hand,  and  a  cheery  "Step  up 
Sissy." 

"Now  we  are  fixed,"  he  says,  lightly;  then  cries: 
"Hi,  driver!"  to  the  colored  boy,  who  acts  as  Jehu, 
"Trot 'em  along!" 

And  away  they  go  in  the  stream  of  carriages  upon 
that  most  popular  of  drives,  the  one  that  leads  to  the 
lake.  From  this  they  make  a  detour,  for  they  wish 
the  jaunt  to  be  a  long  one,  and  going  by  Vichy  Spring 
pause  to  enjoy  its  mineral  waters  as  they  pour  fresh 
and  foaming  into  their  glasses. 

An  hour  afterward  they  are  at  Riley's,  famous  among 
all  who  have  ever  had  the  joy  of  partaking  of  its  hos- 
pitality, for  its  dinners  though  simple  are  unique  and 
wondrous  in  their  freshness  and  in  their  flavor. 


HER  SENATOR.  12J 

It  is  one  of  these  repasts  that  they  sit  waiting  for, 
enjoying  the  soft  sunset  that  is  coming  down  through 
the  trees,  making  deep  shadows  on  the  bosom  of  the 
water  below  them,  the  leaves  just  trembling  in  a  slight 
summer  zephyr,  the  sun  just  becoming  bearable,  for  the 
day  has  been  a  sultry  one  in  Satatoga. 

"It's  as  pretty  a  picture  as  the  start  for  the  Sub- 
urban," remarks  young  Slammer,  contemplatively. 

*' Prettier,  sir,"  replies  the  Senator,  "  than  any  race 
course !  Out  in  my  country  we  take  off  our  hats  to  the 
horse,  who  is  our  friend  and  companion,  but  we  bow 
down  to  the  ladies,  who  are  our  angels  and  blessings." 

As  he  speaks,  he  is  looking  at  Evie,  who  is  stand- 
ing outlined  by  the  sunset  behind  her,  and  calling 
vivaciously,  **  Catch  the  big  ones!  "  to  Mr.  Riley,  who 
is  pulling  out  of  his  own  fish-pond  four  remarkably 
fine  bass,  which  in  five  minutes  will  be  cooking  in  the 
frying-pan,  and  one  of  them,  in  fifteen  more,  will  be 
being  dissected  by  the  pearly  teeth  of  the  lady,  who 
is  encouraging  his  onslaught  on  the  finny  tribe. 

"Gracious!  Are  they  not  beauties^"  she  says, 
admiringly,  as  Riley  returns,  bearing  his  captives. 
"That  one  is  for  me." 

But  if  Evie  is  admiring  the  fish  the  Senator  is 
admiring  her,  with  much  better  taste,  though  both  are 
the  finest  of  their  kind. 

For  the  lady  is  as  lovely  as  has  been  seen  in  Saratoga 
since  the  days  the  Indians  left  it.  In  all  its  years,  when 
the  belles  of  the  South  "  before  de  wa'  "  came  to  drink 
its  sparkling  waters  and  throng  its  ballrooms ;  in  its  days 
of  glory,  when  its  race-track  was  crowded  by  the  East 
and  West  and  North  and  South,  who  came  to  lay  their 
money  on  their  pet  thoroughbreds,  State  against  State ; 
when  Tom  Bowling,  of  Kentucky  raced  against  Harry 
Bassett,  of  New  Jersey;  in  the  brilliant  society  of  the 
"  United  States,"  before  Newport  became  first  in  social 


124  HER   SENATOR. 

prestige,  never  has  any  more  beautiful  woman  stood  by 
the  side  of  exquisite  Lake  Lonely  and  added  to  the 
loveliness  of  the  scene. 

Yet  simplicity  is  her  great  ornament,  for  Evie  is  in 
pure,  fairy  white,  save  a  few  roses  in  her  bosom,  which 
dash  a  little  color  on  a  picture  that  would  be  cold  were  it 
not  for  the  blush  on  her  cheeks,  the  vivacity  in  her  eyes, 
and  the  cherry  beauties  of  her  lips,  that,  as  Mr.  Guern- 
sey remarks,  "are  always  expressing  something." 

Some  women  have  lips  that  speak  though  their 
tongues  do  not  move. 

From  her  fishing  she  comes  running  gracefully  up  to 
the  Solon  and  gives  him  a  charming  moue  that  makes  his 
heart  beat,  then  pouts:  "Mr.  Riley  says  he  isn't  going 
to  give  me  the  biggest  bass.  He  insists  my  mouth  isn't 
large  enough  for  it." 

''The  heartless  reprobate!"  chuckles  the  Senator. 
"  If  he  gives  me  the  biggest  I  shall  consider  Riley's 
remarks  personal." 

"And  resent  them  upon  the  fish,"  laughs  Mr.  Slam- 
mer. 

But  Guernsey  doesn't  hear  the  turfman's  wit  for 
Evelyn  has  suddenly  cried:  "Oh,  gracious!  I've  lost 
my  bracelet,  fishing!" 

So  the  two  stroll  down  to  the  pond  to  find  it,  leaving 
Flora  and  her  admirer  behind  them.  The  fish  pool  is 
in  a  little  hollow  near  the  lake.  To  it  Guernsey  and 
Evelyn  descend  by  a  short  path.  The  sun  is  just  going 
down,  the  trees  shade  the  place  and  in  the  uncertain 
light  the  search  for  the  missing  trinket  takes  some 
little  time. 

Perchance  delay  is  not  altogether  unpleasant  to  the 
statesman,  whose  eyes  seem  to  seek  his  fair  companion 
more  than  they  do  for  her  bracelet;  as  she,  in  graceful 
attitude,  gropes  eagerly  for  the  ornament  about  the 
edges  of  the  pool. 


HER    SENATOR.  125 

At  last  he  cries  in  triumph:  "I've  spotted  it!" 
and  holds  up  the  bauble,  which  is  a  plain  gold  affair 
bearing  one  or  two  bangles  upon  it,  very  simple  yet 
very  pretty.  "As  a  reward  I'll  replace  it!" 

''With  pleasure,"  replies  the  lady  most  unaffectedly 
and  extends  to  him  a  white  arm,  dimpled  wrist  and 
delicate  patrician  hand. 

She  has  taken  off  her  gloves  to  aid  her  search  and 
Doc.  Guernsey's  fingers  seem  to  be  paralyzed  thumbs 
as  they  encounter  her  satin  skin.  The  catch  is  a  sim" 
pie  one  but  he  doesn't  seem  to  be  able  to  snap  it  on. 
The  thrill  that  runs  up  his  fingers  as  he  touches  the 
pretty  wrist  seems  to  make  him  awkward,  and  the 
Western  Senator  bungles  at  this  entrancing  job  as  many 
a  man  has  done  before  and  as  many  a  man  will  do  here- 
after. 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  the  affair,"  remarks 
Evie,  laughing  lightly. 

In  truth  he  does  not,  for  his  thoughts  are  not  on  the 
bracelet,  but  upon  the  exquisite  wrist  and  magnificent 
arm  he  holds  in  his  hands. 

A  minute  after  it  is  done ! 

"Thank  you,"  she  replies,  and  turns  toward  the 
house ;  but  he  still  keeps  her  hand  as  if  loath  to  let  it  go. 

Suddenly  a  start  and  thrill  go  through  Evelyn,  for 
as  her  back  is  turned  to  him  she  thinks  she  feels  her  fair 
wrist  grazed  by  a  mustache.  She  doesn't  turn  her 
face  to  his;  she  doesn't  wish  him  to  see  how  red  it  is. 
There  is  a  swish  of  white  skirts  and  a  glimpse  of  daz- 
zling ankles  as  she  flies  up  the  steep  path  and  is  gone. 

And  Guernsey,  striding  after  her,  remarks  to  him- 
self in  pathetic  sotto  voce :  "  She  fled  from  the  hand  of 
fellowship  with  the  cry  of  a  startled  colt. " 

On  the  veranda  Evelyn  turns  to  him  again  and 
laughs:  "You  didn't  beat  me  up  the  hill?  mountain 
man  as  you  arc." 


126  HER   SENATOR. 

"No,"  replies  the  Solon  prophetically,  "but  I'll 
catch  you  some  day,  sure!" 

A  minute  after,  dinner  is  announced,  and  the  quar- 
tette go  in  to  a  meat  that  they  never  forget ;  for  when 
one  has  dined  at  Riley's,  it  is  a  thing  that  lingers  in  the 
remembrance.  Amid  the  gorgeousness  of  New  York 
dinner-parties,  among  the  rich  wines  of  club  banquets, 
surrounded  by  the  glories  at  a  lunch  at  the  Waldorf,  or 
&  petit  souper  at  Delmonico's,  memories  of  Riley's  will 
come  back  to  one  who  has  partaken  at  his  simple  board. 

The  table  is  decked  with  the  whitest  of  tablecloths 
and  napkins,  the  china  white  also,  but  on  it  is  a  repast 
that  makes  an  epicure's  palate  throb  and  a  gourmand's 
teeth  do  deadly  work.  Saratoga  Lake  bass,  just  out 
of  the  water,  cooked  to  the  quarter  of  a  turn;  fresh 
corn  plucked  within  the  hour,  succulent,  juicy,  and 
soft  enough  to  be  babies'  food,  as  Guernsey  suggests; 
chickens  as  tender  as  young  partridges,  and  fritters 
the  recollection  of  which  never  leaves  man  nor  woman 
when  they  have  eaten  them  once  !  This  is  all ;  but  washed 
down  by  cool  and  dry  champagne  in  quantities  to  suit, 
and  backed  up  by  coffee,  and  for  the  gentlemen  cigars, 
it  makes  both  Mr.  Slammer  and  the  statesman  from 
the  West  feel  in  the  Seventh  Heaven,  after  they  have 
taken  a  pony  of  cognac  of  the  right  brand  and  the  right 
year. 

How  man's  heart  warms  after  dinner,  and  woman's 
heart  also.  They  all  drive  home  very  happy  from 
this  dinner  at  Riley's,  Mr.  Slammer  because  Flora  has 
whispered  to  him  quite  blushingly  that  he  can  take 
her  every  day  to  the  races ;  the  Senator  because  he 
still  remembers  with  guilty  throbs  that  his  lips  have 
kissed  the  widow's  fair  and  dazzling  wrist.  Perchance, 
also,  in  the  moonlight  she  permits  him  to  hold 
for  one  moment  her  patrician  fingers  cased  within 
her  dainty  gloves,  very  modestly,  very  tremblingly, 


HER    SENATOR.  127 

for  the  Senator's  grip  is  of  iron,  and  it  is  only  by 
Spartan  resolution  that  Evie  refrains  from  opening  her 
little  mouth  and  uttering  a  plaintive  squeal  as  he  assists 
her  out  of  the  carriage. 

But  the  effect  of  this  is  equally  great  upon  the 
Solon,  who,  after  they  have  arrived  at  the  Windsor 
and  the  ladies  have  retired  from  his  gaze,  walks  down 
to  Congress  Park  and  sinking  upon  a  bench,  mutters: 
"By  the  Lord!  I  wish  I  could  keep  from  thinking 
poetry  about  her!  Is  it  that  or  the  mosquitoes  that 
keep  me  awake  at  nights  ?  Everything  is  going 
so  free  and  easy  here  that  it  would  be  a  perfect 
paradise  if  I  could  only  sleep." 

Then  he  retires  to  his  senatorial  couch,  to  awaken 
the  next  morning  to  astonishment,  dismay,  and  per- 
turbation of  spirit,  and  to  discover  that  all  is  not  going 
free  and  easy  at  Saratoga. 

The  disaster  chat  comes  upon  Mr.  Guernsey  in  the 
morning  is  brought  about  by  a  revelation  that  comes 
to  Evie  this  night  in  a  few  scraps  of  conversation  which 
float  up  to  her  from  the  veranda  below. 

Her  room  is  on  the  second  floor,  with  windows  open- 
ing on  the  gr:at  portico  that  shades  this  side  of  the 
hotel,  the  roof  of  which  is  so  high  that  it  incloses  the 
second  and  third  stories,  making  them  part  of  the  bal- 
cony itself.  The  night  is  quiet,  for  the  devilish  Italian 
boy  who  sings  "My  Marguerite"  incessantly  at  the 
hotel  opposite,  to  the  vile  'ingling  of  Italian  stringed 
instruments,  has  eaten  too  much  watermelon,  and  the 
colic  gives  respite  from  his  torment. 

Two  gentlemen  are  conversing  on  the  portico  imme- 
diately below  her  window  which,  the  night  being  warm, 
is  open  to  its  full  extent.  One  of  them  is  Mr.  Mart 
Crossbrand,  the  Westerner,  whose  conversation  had 
interested  Evelyn  at  Koster  &  Bial's. 

As  she  lies  languidly  on  a  couch  near  the  window 


I2S  HER  SENATOR. 

seeking  for  air,  for  this  has  been  one  of  Saratoga  s 
sultry  days,  the  familiarity  of  the  voice  first  catches 
her  attention;  then,  the  conversation  comes  to  her 
with  startling  distinctness  and  these  are  the  words  she 
hears: 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  the  Senator  yet,  Bullem  ?  " 

"About  the  money  I  way  robbed  of  the  night  of  his 
election  ?  You  bet — that's  one  of  the  things  brought 
me  to  Saratoga — that  and  the  Post  Office  !  " 

"  Did  you  get  any  satisfaction  ?  " 

"  No,  curse  him  !  he  told  me  he  knew  nothing  about 
it ;  furthermore  that  if  anybody  had  paid  any  money  to 
obtain  his  election  it  was  without  his  knowledge  or 
consent — gave  me  the  Bronco  kick  and  stiff-buck  at 
one  and  the  same  time.  Said  I  must  have  dreamed  of 
having  had  the  eighteen  hundred  dollars,  let  alone 
losing  'em !  No  friend  of  his  would  have  dared  to  offer 
a  bribe  in  his  name." 

"  Well,  I  think  he  told  the  truth,  Bob." 

"What!  Didn't  know  that  money  was  paid  out  to 
make  him  an  Honorable  and  a  United  States  Senator? 
Give  that  to  the  coyotes.  But  I'll  be  even  with 
him,"  goes  on  the  man  shortly.  "  Wait  till  I  get  back 
to  Silveropolis ;  I'll  tell  'em  of  the  moralist's  fall  from 
grace ! " 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Hasn't  he  got  a 
widow  on  the  string  here?  Didn't  you  see  him  flip  the 
beaut  out  of  the  carriage  ten  minutes  ago?  That's  the 
reason  he  shipped  his  sister  off  to  Europe.  He's  going 
to  make  a  long  spree  of  it  up  here." 

"  Perhaps  he's  only  got  a  fatherly  interest  in  her," 
laughs  Mr.  Crossbrand. 

"  Fatherly  interest  ?  Hell  and  Greasers  !  Did  you 
ever  see  a  senator  have  a  fatherly  interest  in  any- 
thing ?  You  don't  know  'em  at  Washington  as  I  do. 


HER   SENATOR.  1-29 

I  tell  you  '  Doc.  Guernsey's  gal '  '11  make  head-lines 
for  the  Silveropolis  Buzzard.  Let's  go  into  the  bar  and 
take  a  drink  to  '  Guernsey's  Gal.' ' 

Then  the  other's  words  come  to  her  and  burn  into 
Evie's  brain:  "I'll  liquor,  of  course,  but  it's  a  pity," 
remarks  Crossbrand,  with  almost  a  sigh,  ' '  that  a  man 
who  was  as  upright  as  a  telegraph  pole  should  be 
dragged  in  the  mud  by  a  Jezebel  siren." 

Now,  a  good  deal  of  this  conversation  is  true,  for, 
curiously  enough,  Doc.  Guernsey  has  gone  through  as 
little  of  the  moral  degeneration  often  attendant  upon 
an  election  to  the  United  States  Senate  as  is  compatible 
with  success.  For  few  men  in  the  present  status  of 
politics  in  the  United  States  can  hope  to  aspire  to  the 
senatorial  chamber  without  a  bargain  of  some  kind. 
Out  West,  quite  often  dollars  pure  and  simple  do  the 
business,  in  Eastern  and  more  strait-laced  communities, 
generally  promises  of  office ;  but  the  taint  of  a  political 
trade  is  in  it  just  the  same  and  a  man  after  passing 
through  such  an  election,  triumphant  politically  as  he 
may  be,  bowed  down  to  as  he  must  be  by  his  con- 
stituents, a  power  in  the  nation  as  he  is,  must  take  his 
seat  in  the  senatorial  chair  with  his  high  ideals  of 
political  morality  somewhat  impeached,  and  generally 
in  his  heart  the  thought:  "This  office  is  mine!  I 
bought  it !  It  is  for  my  use,  it  is  for  my  good,  not  that 
of  the  people  of  the  United  States  ! " 

His  one  thought  is  generally  how  he  shall  get  it 
again,  and  he  shapes  his  course  with  that  aim  in 
view,  and  quite  often,  God  be  praised,  misses  his 
mark!  For  the  old  dyed-in-the-wool  two-term  senator 
is  very  apt  to  imagine  there  is  nothing  so  high  upon 
this  earth  as  "senatorial  courtesy,"  that  the  press 
should  not  criticise,  that  the  public  should  not  com- 
plain, that  what  is  done  in  the  senate  is  of  the  senate, 
and  every  member  should  stagd  by  for  the  honor  of  the 


130  HER  SENATOR. 

other.  It  is  not  "  God  save  the  nation,"  but  "  God 
save  us." 

But  Evie  does  not  think  of  the  dragging  in  the  mud 
of  the  idol  of  Silveropolis.  What  concerns  her  is  the 
dragging  in  the  mud  of  her  own  dainty  self.  She 
had  passed  this  lightly  by  in  her  plan  of  the  campaign 
which  was  to  win  the  heart  of  a  magnate  of  the  Senate 
and  sell  his  vote  for  her  own  empty  but  capacious 
pocket. 

Her  lips  tremble  as  she  bursts  into  bitter  laughter 
and  jeers  herself,  muttering:  "Doc.  Guernsey's^// 
I  have  been  seeking  for  her  all  over  Saratoga,  and 
now — ha !  ha !  ha ! — I've  found  her.  /  am  Doc.  Guern- 
sey's GAL.  I  knew — of  course  I  knew — that  would  be 
the  result,"  she  murmurs,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  star- 
ing, "that  the  moment  a  man  was  called  -my  senator 
I  should  be  styled  his  mistress!  God  help  me,  I  did 
think  it !  but  I  didn't  think  it  would  be  so  bitter,  so 
degrading. " 

Then  she  bursts  out,  mocking  herself  again:  "Doc. 
Guernsey's  GAL!  Doc.  Guernsey's  GAL!"  And  her 
fair  form  writhes  as  she  stings  herself  with  the  vile 
epithet.  But,  forcing  herself  to  calmness,  she  thinks: 
"  What  do  I  care  about  rumor  so  long  as  I  am  innocent? 
Does  not  everybody  in  the  Bohemia  that  I  live  in  get 
the  credit  of  being  as  light  and  loose  in  their  morals  as 
they  are  in  their  purses?" 

But  the  epithet  will  not  down  in  her  mind.  She 
laughs  a  ghastly  laugh:  "  I,  who  was  to  have  been  his 
Cleopatra,  am  now  called  his  GAL!" 

But  with  this  comes  sudden  shock  and  startling  idea. 
"I  shall  stoop,"  she  shudders,  "without  conquering. 
In  this  place,  with  its  myriads  of  women  who  will  soon 
be  here  for  the  races,  some  good,  some  indifferent — • 
most  of  them  bad— I  shall  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
common  herd  of  summer  wives.  I  shall  be  no  higher  in 


HER  SENATOR,  13! 

his  eyes  than  any  of  the  half  dozen  ladies  who  are  now 
casting  their  glances  on  him,  seeking  his  power,  his 
v/ealth,  and  his  good  graces.  J  shall  be  rolled  in  the 
mud  of  his  chariot,  but  shall  not  flaunt  the  flag  of  vic- 
tory. No,  I  will  ride  in  the  chariot  with  him;  that  or 
nothing'  I  may  be  his  guiding  star,  but  his  slave, 
never!  I  will  yet  be  his  Cleopatra,  even  to  his  undo- 
ing, for  I  have  heard  him  talk  again  to-day  of  his 
sainted  father!  He  said  his  sister  was  traveling  in 
Europe  in  luxury — where  is  my  sister  ?  But  to  do  this, 
I  must  come  to  him  from  a  higher  plane,  not  from  a 
lower  one ;  one  where  there  are  no  politicians  to  de- 
grade me  with  their  tongues,  nor  constituents  from  the 
West  to  tell  of  the  man  'as  upright  as  a  telegraph  pole ' 
being  destroyed  by  a  '  Jezebel  siren.'  I'll  stay  here  no 
more !  Then  if  he  follows  me,  I  shall  know  that  some 
day  he  will  be  truly  MY  Senator,  not  I  his  GAL!" 

The  next  morning  the  Honorable  Doc.  Guernsey 
rises  a  little  late  perchance,  for  he  has  not  slept  well  in 
the  early  hours  of  the  night,  but  withal,  is  now  very 
debonair  and  fresh  looking,  with  a  dewy  posy  in  his 
buttonhole. 

To  the  waiter  at  their  cosy  little  table  for  three,  in 
the  dining  room,  the  statesman  remarks:  "I  see  the 
ladies  have  already  breakfasted  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answers  the  attendant,  made  affable 
and  talkative  by  a  crisp,  new  dollar  greenback.  "  They 
both  partook  very  early  this  morning." 

This  news  does  not  destroy  Mr.  Guernsey's  appe- 
tite, and,  after  a  leisurely,  comfortable  and  pleasant 
meal,  he  strolls  out  to  the  office,  and  says  to  the  clerk : 
"  The  ladies  have  gone  out,  I  imagine?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replies  the  gentleman  in  the  office; 
"  they  have  left  the  hotel." 

"  Oho!"  thinks  the  Senator,  as  he  strides  out  of  the 
portals.  "Gone  over  to  their  new  cottage,  I  reckon^ 


13*  HER  SENATOR. 

Curious  they  didn't  ask  me  to  look  after  their  trunks!** 

With  this  he  steps  down  to  the  little  cottage  on 
Circular  street,  but,  to  his  astonishment,  its  door  is  not 
open,  and  the  sign,  "  To  rent,"  is  still  upon,  it. 

"That's  curious,"  he  thinks.  "I'll  ask  at  the 
agent's;"  and  is  soon  at  the  office  of  the  real  estate 
man,  who,  to  his  surprise,  tells  him  that  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  has  not  taken  the  cottage. 

"In  fact,  I  received  a  note  from  her  this  morning," 
remarks  the  gentleman,  "telling  me  that  she  had 
given  up  the  idea,  and  was  leaving  Saratoga." 

"Leaving  Saratoga!"  gasps  his  auditor.  "Young 
man,  you  must  be  loony!"  and  strides  out  of  the  office, 
making  very  quick  work  of  it  up  the  hill  to  the  Wind- 
sor, frequently  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head in  a  dazed  manner  as  he  climbs  the  steep  grade. 
He  is  out  of  breath  when  he  arrives  at  the  hotel  and 
strides  into  the  office. 

"  You  said  the  ladies — by  that  you  meant  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  and  Miss  Atherton — left  the  hotel.  Where  did 
they  go  ?"  he  asks,  eagerly — anxiously. 

"  To  New  York,  I  believe,  sir,  by  the  morning  train !  " 

"Gee  whizz!"  And  the  Senator  staggers  out  to 
the  front  piazza,  and  sits  down  astounded,  disturbed, 
and  dismayed.  The  sun  seems  to  have  gone  out  of  the 
heavens  to  him.  A  few  minutes  after  he  comes  back 
and  says,  pleadingly:  "Are  there  any — any  letters 
for  me  ? " 

"  No,  sir — not  this  morning,"  remarks  the  clerk. 

Then  the  sky  is  very  black  to  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Guernsey  this  bright  summer  day.  However,  ten  min- 
utes afterward  he  goes  into  the  office  again  and  whispers, 
falteringly :  ' '  Any— any  telegrams  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sir!  " 

Then  he  questions:  "Mrs.  Montressor  and  Miss 
Atherton  left  hurriedly  ?  " 


HER  SENATOR.  133 

"Yes,  sir;  I  think  it  must  have  been  some  sudden 
news  from  New  York.  They  came  down  and  paid  their 
bill ;  their  trunks  were  already  packed,  and  they  had  only 
time  to  catch  the  morning  train  just  after  breakfast." 

"  Sudden  news,  telegraphic  information  of  a  lot  of 
imported  bonnets,  gowns,  and  folderols  from  PanV, 
eh  ? "  remarks  Mr.  Guernsey,  attempting  jocularity, 
and  stepping  out  of  the  hotel,  walks  about  the  town,  re- 
marking: "Sudden  news?  They'll  telegraph.  Death 
in  the  family,  perhaps — struck  'em  silly." 

But  his  face  has  such  an  expression  upon  it  of  sudden 
shock  and  agitated  suspense  that  Mr.  Bob  Bullem 
remarks  to  his  friend  Crossbrand :  * '  Did  you  see  Guern- 
sey's phiz?  Look  at  it!  By  Yankee  Doodle,  they  are 
going  to  contest  his  election  sure!  "  and  chuckles  to 
himself  as  if  demented. 

As  for  poor  Guernsey,  he  passes  two  unhappy  days 
in  which  he  thinks  Saratoga  is  a  gloomy  hole,  and  the 
spring  water  is  no  good  and  makes  him  sick,  until  finally 
one  morning,  as  he  is  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  the 
hotel  meditating  about  bolting  from  the  "cussed 
place"  the  sun  once  more  shines  in  the  heavens  to  him, 
for  he  sees  Flora  Atherton  standing  on  the  portico  of 
the  Windsor  looking  as  fresh  and  untraveled-stained 
as  if  she  had  never  left  Saratoga. 

With  one  wave  he  throws  away  his  half-smoked  cigar 
and  clasps  her  hand,  murmuring:  "This  is  fine!  Back 
again,  looking  as  fresh  and  natural  as  if  you  hadn't 
been  away.  I  suppose  you'll  occupy  your  usual  seats 
in  the  dining  room  ?  I  have  kept  'em  for  you,  though 
you  didn't  deserve  it — going  away  without  even  saying 
good-bye.  But  you  expected  to  come  up  sooner  ?  " 

"Yes,  /did." 

"And  Mrs.— Mrs.  Montressor  ?'"  This  is  said 
eagerly,  nervously. 

"I  left  her  in  New  York." 


134  HE*  SENATOR. 

Then  the  sun  goes  out  of  the  heaven  again  to  Doc. 
Guernsey.  "She — she  didn't  come  up  ?  "  he  stammers 
beneath  his  breath. 

"No,  she  will  not  return.  Evie  has  some  fad  in 
her  head  about  another  place,"  remarks  Flora,  sav- 
agely. "She  wouldn't  even  come  up  to  the  races,  and 
I  had  promised  Mr.  Slammer  to  let  him  bet  for  me  on 
every  one  of  them." 

"She  gave  you  no — no  message?" 

This  is  said  in  such  husky  plaintiveness  that  the 
actress  laughs:  "Here's  something  to  raise  your 
spirits,"  and  places  in  his  hand  a  little  scented  billet- 
doux. 

As  Flora  trips  away,  Mr.  Guernsey  opens  the 
following  note: 

NEW  YORK,  July  27. 
DEAR  MR.  GUERNSEY: 

Pardon  my  rudeness  in  not  writing  to  you  the  morning  I  left 
Saratoga,  or  bidding  you  good-bye,  but  I  was  compelled  by 
sudden  news  to  depart  at  once  for  New  York. 

The  doctors  here  recommend  sea  air  for  me.  I  think  of 
taking  a  cottage  at  Narragansett  Pier  for  the  rest  of  the  season. 
Should  you  chance  to  come  that  way,  run  in  and  say  "How  do 
you  do  T  to  Your  sincere  friend, 

EVELYN  MONTRESSOR. 

He  reads  this  epistle  twice,  then  meditatively  utters 
these  curious  words :  "When  temptation  has  run  away 
from  you,  you'd  better  not  run  after  it,  Doc  Guern- 
sey ! " 

But  a  moment  after  this  gentleman  from  the  West 
falters:  "Great  Scott,  the  poor  thing's  sick!  She 
needs  sea  air,"  next  says  resolutely:  "That's  what's 
been  the  matter  with  me  up  here.  I'm  a  mountain 
man.  I  need  sea  air  aiso — fusts  of  it  I " 


HER  SENATOR.  135 


CHAPTER  XI. 
WANTED  A  DUENNA! 

Now  all  this  has  come  about  in  this  way:  Evelyn 
had  suddenly  packed  her  trunks  and  persuaded  Miss 
Atherton  to  run  down  with  her  to  New  York,  the  ac- 
tress imagining  it  was  for  a  day's  jaunt  in  the  city,  for 
Flora  has  forgotten,  in  the  attractions  of  the  horsey, 
free-handed,  high-betting  young  Mr.  Slammer,  the  fas- 
cinations of  the  penurious,  empty-pocketed,  artistic, 
Von  Spitzer.  Therefore  it  is  to  her  dismay  that  the 
widow  informs  her  that  she  is  not  going  to  return  to 
the  fascinations  of  Saratoga  in  its  racing  month. 

"Not  go  back?"  Flora  has  cried.  "Not  going 
to  return  ?  What  will  the  Senator  say  and — Mr. 
Slammer  ?  " 

"You  can  make  the  Senator  content  with  this  note," 
laughs  Mrs.  Montressor,  handing  Flora  her  epistle, 
"and  young  Slammer  very  happy  by  reappearing  your- 
self." 

"Without.^;" 

"Certainly!" 

"But  the  Senator— the  poor  Senator! " 

"Nonsense! " 

And  Evie  is  hard-hearted  as  regards  the  poor  Sena- 
tor, also  as  regards  her  pretty  chum,  whose  pouts, 
plaints,  and  even  tears  do  not  change  Mrs.  Montressor's 
line  of  action,  now  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  it. 

Therefore  Flora  returns  alone  to  Saratoga,  and  Mrs. 
Montressor  astonishes  Mr.  Steinbergh  by  walking  into 
his  private  office  in  Wall  street  one  morning,  and  saying: 
"  My  dear  boy,  I  want  you  to  get  me  a  duenna." 

"A  WHAT?" 


136  HER   SENATOR. 

"A  duenna!" 

"We  don't  deal  in  the  article  about  here,"  says  the 
financier,  stifling  a  laugh. 

"A  duenna!  Perhaps  you  would  call  it  a  chaperone. 
Some  lady  to  guard  me  from  a  censorious  world,  now 
that  I  have  lost  the  protection  of  a  husband." 

And  she  gives  him  a  charming  smile,  frank  glance, 
and  dainty  hand. 

"It  appears  to  me,  laughs  Steinbergh,  "that  Claude 
is  the  one  who  needs  the  protection,  judging  by  the 
foolish  books  he  makes  upon  the  races.  But  you  want  a 
chaperone !  Why  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  remarks  Evelyn,  and  proceeds  to  give 
Mr.  Steinbergh  a  succinct,  vivid,  yet  humorous,  relation 
of  some  things  that  have  taken  place  in  Saratoga;  not 
laying  bare  her  innermost  mind  to  the  financier,  by  any 
means,  but  still  giving  him  enough  of  her  emotions  to 
show  him  that  the  epithet  of  "Doc Guernsey's^/"  has 
not  been  pleasing  to  her. 

"  Pooh !  "  says  the  Wall  street  man.  "You  shouldn't 
mind  that.  The  more  prominent  a  gentleman,  the 
more  beautiful  a  lady,  the  more  scandal  about  them.  I 
myself,"  here  he  smiles  slightly,  "have  oftentimes  been 
maligned  in  the  press,  chiefly  because  they  claim  I'm 
a  millionaire.  They  have  been  hating  me  so  long  that 
they  wouldn't  forgive  me  now,  even  if  I  grew  poor. 
Perchance  they  wouldn't  be  kind  to  thee,  even  if  thou 
lost  thy  beauty.  You  don't  want  to  try  the  experi- 
ment, though,  do  you  ? " 

"  Not  this  year,"  laughs  the  widow.  Then  she  says, 
coming  to  her  point  again :  "Can't you,  among  all  the 
people  who  have  applied  to  you  for  financial  points,  for 
hints  upon  stocks,  in  the  great  following,  not  of  a  man 
who  is  rich,  but  the  greater  following  of  a  man  who  can 
make  others  rich,  think  of  some  lady  who  has  just  the 
tip  of  her  finger  in  the  doorway  of  society — some  one  I 


HER   SENATOR.  137 

can  push  in,  grab  hold  of  and  go  in  with  her  ?  You  do 
everything,  you  are  omnipotent!  " 

"Not  socially,"  remarks  the  financier  very  grimly; 
for  his  name  has  just  been  slated  for  a  vacant 
place  in  the  list  of  Patriarchs,  and  it  is  a  greater  bitter- 
ness to  him  than  if  he  had  been  defeated  in  a  stock 
speculation.  Perhaps  this  very  feeling  makes  him  pity 
the  fair  would-be  wanderer  from  Bohemia,  and  he  says: 
"I'll  see.  Where  are  you  stopping?  I'll  call  upon 
you  in  the  next  day  or  two." 

"  At  the  Waldorf,"  says  the  lady. 

"  What?" 

"AT  THE  WALDORF!" 

And  she  goes  away,  leaving  him  so  impressed  by 
this  remark  that  he  mutters  to  himself,  "She's  a  great 
woman!"  Then  meditates,  perchance  a  little  sadly: 
"  She'll  soon  be  wanting  me  to  be  speculating  in  stocks 
for  her  again." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Steinbergh  calls  at  this  far-famed 
hotel,  and,  taking  Evie  to  a  performance  at  the  Madi- 
son Square  Roof  Garden,  and  thereafter  to  supper  at 
Delmonico's,  tells  her  that  he  has  arranged  the  matter 
for  her. 

Senora  de  Oriva,  of  Cuba,  a  lady  of  reduced  for- 
tune, her  estates  having  suffered  greatly  by  the  politi- 
cal uncertainties  of  the  island,  is  anxious  to  add  to  her 
income.  "This lady,"  he  remarks,  "  lives  in  Washing- 
ton during  the  winter.  She  is  well  known  at  the  Span- 
ish Embassy,  and  consequently  has  a  certain  entrte^ 
though  undoubtedly  a  limited  one,  to  society  there. 
She  is  a  very  pleasant  and  charming  woman  and  not 
over  beautiful,"  he  continues,  with  a  grimace.  "But 
I  think  she  may  be  of  some  assistance  to  you.  Her 
appearance  indicates  a  decided  adherence  to  the  con- 
venances of  society  and  a  moral  rectitude  that  is  im- 
pressive. She  has  a  son  who  is  a  romantic  creaturt 


138  H£R  SENATOR. 

but  he  is  away  and  doesn't  count.  You  think  of  going 
to  Narragansett  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replies  the  lady,  "my  purse  does  not  per- 
mit Newport." 

"In  Newport  I  don't  think  Seftora  de  Oriva  would 
be  of  much  use  to  you,  but  at  Narragansett  she  may  be 
of  more  benefit.  I  shall  probably  see  you  there," 
adds  Mr.  Steinbergh  as  he  says  adieu.  "I  have  now 
a  new  white  steam  yacht  called  the  Goldfinch." 

"Ah,  come — I  shall  make  up  a  yachting  party  for 
you,"  remarks  Mrs.  Montressor;  then  she  says  impul- 
sively: "  How  can  I  ever  thank  you?" 

Perchance  his  glance  answers  her,  but  she  will 
not  understand,  and  says  lightly,  "  Au  revvir,"  and 
goes  up  in  the  elevator  of  the  Waldorf  from  his  Teu- 
tonic eyes,  that  grow  almost  pathetic  as  they  look 
after  her. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  in  a  pretty  little  cottage  at 
Narragansett  Pier,  a  few  days  after  this,  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor is  sitting  on  the  lawn  talking  to  Mr.  Steinbergh, 
who  has  this  day  run  over  in  his  yacht,  the  Goldfinch, 
from  Newport.  Seftora  de  Oriva  is  doing  her  knitting  on 
the  porch  in  a  placid  way ;  the  air  is  fresh  with  sea  breeze, 
the  sun  is  bright  overhead,  and  their  conversation  is 
light,  happy,  debonair,  perchance  even  flirtatious. 
To  them  comes  a  crunching  step  on  the  gravel  walk,  and 
Evelyn,  looking  up,  sees  Doc  Guernsey  gazing  at  the 
financier  with  the  look  of  a  grizzly  bear. 

She  knows  she  has  him!     Oh,  the  joy,  the  triumph! 

"What,  here  at  last?"  cries  Evie  with  such  un- 
affected delight  that  Bruin  grows  as  good-natured  as  if 
ne  were  eating  honey  and  as  smooth  as  if  his  claws 
were  sheathed  in  velvet. 

"  Yes,  I  had  to  come  down  to  Newport  to  see  Chip- 
pie on  political  business.  He's  my  senior  senator,  you 
know.  But  Newport  was  too  rich  for  my  blood,  so  I 


HER   SENATOR.  139 

thought  I'd  run  over  here  and  see  if  you  were  in  the 
land  of  the  living." 

"I  have  done  just  the  same  thing  in  my  steam 
yacht,"  remarks  Mr.  Steinbergh  as  Evie  is  shaking 
hands  with  the  statesman  from  the  West. 

"  This  is  delightful,"  cries  the  widow.  "  I  shall  give 
you  two  lunch  in  about  five  minutes  if  Senora  de  Oriva 
doesn't  object.  You  know  she's  my  chaperone  here," 
she  says,  following  Mr.  Guernsey's  relieved  glance  at 
the  duenna,  a  glance  that  grows  into  a  spasm  of  aston- 
ishment ;  for  the  appearance  of  the  Spanish  lady  is  such  as 
would  give  any  man  dismay,  for  no  greater  dragon  of  vir- 
tue in  appearance  has  ever  been  exhibited  in  Spanish 
plays.  She  has  the  eyes  of  a  hawk,  only  larger  and  more 
piercing;  her  nose  is  like  unto  the  beak  of  an  eagle, 
though  somewhat  sharper ;  her  figure  is  gaunt  beyond 
gauntness,  and  displays  in  low-necked  dress  in 
the  afternoon  manner  of  the  Spaniard.  Besides  this, 
she  has  a  mustache  of  such  long,  dark,  strong  hair  that 
for  one  moment  Guernsey  has  thought  she  is  a  man  in 
disguise.  Still  with  all  this  her  manners  are  those  of  a 
lady  who  has  been  born  almost  in  the  purple; her  voice, 
to  the  astonishment  of  those  who  look  upon  her  and 
have  not  heard  it,  is  sweet  and  melodious. 

A  minute  after  the  Senator  is  presented  and  received 
with  great  empressement  by  the  Castilian  dragon;  for 
senators  are  very  great  men  in  Washington,  and  she 
has  lived  there  long  enough  to  know  their  potency  and 
status. 

"  El  nucvo  senador  from  Populoso.  The  honor  is 
mine,"  she  murmurs,  as  she  courtesies  to  Guernsey's 
affable  bow. 

A  minute  later  Evelyn  goes  in  with  her  to  assist  the 
preparation  of  her  hospitable  board,  leaving  the  two 
gentlemen  together. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her? "  sayi  Steinbergh  smiling. 


140  HER   SENATOR. 

"Who,  Mrs.  Montressor  ?     She's  a  rosebud." 

"I  referred  to  her  chaperon,e"  returns  the  financier 
dryly. 

"Great  Scott!  "  exclaims  Guernsey,  "she's  the  only 
woman  I  would  forgive  for  shaving!  "at  which  they 
both  burst  out  laughing,  and  would  be  very  friendly 
did  they  not  both  so  much  admire  Mrs.  Montressor. 

A  moment  after  Senora  de  Oriva  requests  the  gentle- 
man to  "deign  to  accept  lunch,"  which  they  both  do 
with  an  alertness  born  of  a  Narragansett  appetite  that 
comes  from  sea  air. 

They  enter  to  find  Evie  seated  at  the  head  cf  a 
pretty  little  table  adorned  by  flowers  and,  with  one  at  her 
right  hand  and  the  other  at  her  left  and  virtue  person- 
ified by  the  Spanish  dragon  at  the  foot,  make  a  delight- 
ful meal  of  it. 

"You  found  Newport  too  rich  for  your  blood,  Sena- 
tor? "  remarks  Steinbergh,  a  quizzical  smile  on  his  astute 
face. 

"Yes,  Chippie  tried  to  do  the  right  thing  for  me 
socially  over  there,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  foreign 
land,"  replies  the  Solon.  Then  he  adds  somewhat 
sadly:  "International  marriages  and  international 
railroad  stocks  have  sapped  the  patriotism  in  Newport 
women  and  New  York  stockbrokers." 

"Pooh!  we  needn't  be  afraid  of  European  stock 
quotations  if  Congress  will  only  give  us  a  stable  cur- 
rency based  upon  the  gold  dollar  of  the  world," 
answers  the  financier  lightly. 

At  this  the  silver  man  stabs  fork  into  his  lobster, 
glares  at  the  gold  bug,  and  mutters:  "That  isn't 
patriotic.  Silver  is  our  metal !  We've  got  more  of  it 
out  West  than  any  country  on  earth." 

"Yes,  we've  got  too  much  of  it  in  Washington," 
replies  the  Wall  street  man.  '  'Several  hundred  millions 
are  now  stored  in  the  treasury  vaults  and  nobody  wants 


HER  SENATOR.  141 

it.  Out  West  you  don't  want  it  You  only  want  to 
sell  it  higher  than  the  market." 

"Good  Heavens!"  pathetically  murmurs  Mrs. 
Montressor,  who  is  staring  at  the  two  animated  gen- 
tlemen. "Can't  you  find  a  subject  upon  which  both 
the  silver  man  and  the  gold  bug  can  agree  ? " 

"  I  think  we  can,"  laughs  Mr.  Steinbergh  gazing  at 
her. 

At  which  Guernsey  remarks:  "I  am  with  you!  " 

And  they  do  well  to  agree  on  her,  for  she  is  brighter 
than  gold  and  fairer  than  silver,  though  she  is  gener- 
ally an  imported  article,  her  gown  being  of  the  finest 
Lyons  silk,  though  very  light  and  floating,  her  laces 
coming  from  the  looms  of  Valenciennes.  The  only 
thing  she  has  about  her  which  is  American  is  her 
beauty,  and  even  that  has  at  times  French  touches  in 
it,  the  results  of  her  baby  life  in  Paris  and  the  blood  of 
her  mother,  the  New  Orleans  Creole,  which  give  to  her 
vivacity,  lightness  and  an  idealized  chic,  though  under- 
neath her  airs,  graces,  and  feminine  deliciousness,  is  a 
resolute  spirit  and  a  mind  with  a  good  deal  of  femi- 
nine hit-or-miss  logic  in  it. 

Even  now,  she  is  looking  at  these  two  gentlemen, 
one  the  financier,  who  controls  the  Gelatine  Trust,  and 
the  other  the  Senator,  who  has  the  voting  power  upon 
the  duties  to  be  placed  on  that  article,  and  is  calculat- 
ing how  to  make  the  one  useful  to  her  in  conjunction 
with  the  other. 

But  no  such  thought  is  on  her  face;  it  has  only 
witchery,  fascination,  subtle  abandon,  and  that  God- 
given  gift  to  man  or  woman,  ineffable  charm  of  manner. 

So  the  lunch  goes  off  quite  pleasantly,  Evelyn  per- 
mitting the  gentlemen  to  talk  and  noting  rather 
shrewdly  the  position  they  bear  to  each  other.  From 
Mr.  Steinbergh's  actions  she  judges  that  he  wishes  to 
make  the  Senator  his  friend.  He  avoids  all  discussion 


I4»  HER   SENATOR. 

of  points  either  political  or  financial  upon  which  they 
disagree  and  very  diplomatically  discusses  with  the  poli- 
tician subjects  upon  which  they  have  views  in  common. 

She  is  right  in  this,  for  Steinbergh  ever  since  he  has 
met  the  Western  gentleman  has  determined  to  gain  the 
confidence  and,  if  possible,  the  friendship  of  the  Hon- 
orable James  B.  Guernsey,  Senator  from  Populoso, 
whose  vote  will  be  a  very  important  factor  in  deciding 
the  schedule  of  duties  upon  imported  gelatine — exceed- 
ingly important  because  he  is  a  silver  man  and  will  per- 
haps have  influence  among  the  silver  senators.  For 
Steinbergh  has  discovered  that  Guernsey  is  a  man  of 
what  is  called  out  West  "backbone  "  and  that  he  has 
ideas  in  his  cerebrum  to  stiffen  his  spinal  marrow. 

Even  at  the  lunch  table,  during  light  conversation, 
the  capitalist  becomes  certain  that  his  vis-&-vis  is  not  a 
man  to  be  purchased  with  money  or  tips  on  stocks. 
Any  attempt  of  that  kind  he  would  surely  and  sternly 
resent,  though  he  is  very  open  to  friendship  and  good- 
fellowship. 

"All  the  better  for  me,"  cogitates  the  financier,  "if 
I  get  him! — all' the  stronger  his  vote,  all  the  more 
potent  his  influence." 

He  also  discovers  that  Guernsey  is  very  susceptible 
to  the  glances  of  the  fair  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  cogitates  grimly:  "  How  beautifully  she  plays  her 
game  to  catch  this  Western  fish. " 

Suddenly  there  flies  into  his  mind:  "What  does 
she  mean  to  do  with  this  fish  after  she  has  landed  it?" 

Altogether,  as  he  sips  his  coffee  after  the  meal,  Mr. 
Steinbergh's  thoughts  are  not  pleasant.  It  is  never 
agreeable  to  any  man  to  find  another  has  stepped  into 
his  place  with  a  pretty  woman.  But  Steinbergh  is  not 
only  a  man  of  sentiment  but  a  man  of  affairs,  and  busi- 
ness in  him  dominates  all  else.  It  is  this  that  has 
given  him  his  great  success. 


HER  SENATOR.  143 

*'  Since  Mrs.  Montressor  has  made  up  her  mind  to 
make  me  play  second  violin  to  the  senator,"  he  cogi- 
tates, "  I  may  at  least  use  her  influence." 

Acting  upon  this  idea,  for  the  latter  half  of  the  meal  he 
poses  simply  as  the  well-wishing  friend  of  their  hostess. 
During  the  first  courses,  he  had  been  a  competitor  with 
Guernsey  for  the  lady's  smiles  ;  if  she  gave  the 
Western  man  a  mocking  look,  an  enchanting  glance, 
he  had  struggled  to  obtain  one  for  himself.  Now  he 
drops  out  of  the  race  and  permits  the  last  entry  to  make 
the  running,  devoting  himself  to  Senora  de  Oriva  and  her 
mustache ;  but  it  is  with  a  sigh — philosopher  as  he  is — 
that  he  turns  away  from  the  exquisite  face  and  grace- 
ful figure  and  thinks,  "  Is  the  pioneer  Solon  to  get 
what  I  long  for?  " 

This  is  an  opportunity  the  Castilian  duenna  has  been 
waiting  for.  She  takes  immediate  advantage  of  it,  and 
says:  "  Senor  Steinbergh,  you  remember  my  boy  ?" 

"Yes,"  answers  the  financier,  abstractedly,  as  he 
catches  in  Evie's  light  chatter;  "  You  forgive  me  for 
running  away  from  you  at  Saratoga,  don't  you,  Mr 
Guernsey  ?" 

"You  remember  him!  It  is  well!"  continues  the 
Senora,  in  intense  Spanish  tone.  "  You  remember 
my  noble-hearted  Gonzalo.  The  poor  patriotic  boy 
has  gone  back  to  Cuba.  I  am  in  an  agony.  He  has 
learned  to  talk,  with  an  open  tongue,  politics  in 
America;  he  cannot  remember  that  the  mouth  should 
be  closed  and  the  tongue  should  be  cut  off  in  Cuba.  I 
tremble  when  I  think  of  him.  I  have  written,  implor- 
ing him  to  come  back.  He  is  so  impetuous,  the  Gov- 
ernment will  kill  him  for  his  brave  words.  Could  you 
not,  when  he  returns,  kind  Senor — who  does  everybody 
good,  even  yourself — could  you  not  get  him  an  honor- 
able position  in  one  of  your  gelatine  refineries  ?  He 
knows  all  about  boiling  the  gelatine. " 


144  HER  SENATOR. 

"When  he  gets  back  I'll  see  about  it, "  murmurs  Mr. 
Steinbergh  absent-mindedly,  and  rising  from  the  table, 
adds:  "If  you'll  excuse  me  I'll  go  out  and  smoke  a 
cigar." 

For  just  now  Guernsey's  voice  has  come  to  him  in 
stentoriaa  western  whisper:  "You'll  have  to  be  mighty 
kind  to  me  down  here,  because  you  treated  me  so 
sharp,  snappy,  and  coltish  up  at  the  Springs." 

This  speech,  as  the  Wall  Street  man  sits  down  to 
smoke,  is  not  made  pleasant  even  by  the  flavor  of  a 
magnificent  cigar.  But  the  philosophy  in  him  over- 
comes the  sentiment:  as  he  smokes  he  meditates.  He 
knows  the  Gelatine  Trust  is  going  to  have  the  fight  of 
its  existence  in  the  United  States  Senate.  The  House 
is  safe,  but  the  Senate !  There  will  come  the  contest. 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  influence  him  a  little  bit  and 
this  man's  vote  and  assistance  would  nearly  make  it 
certain  for  us.  Money  won't  buy  him,  social  success, 
even  if  I  could  arrange  it,  he  would  scorn.  What 
other  bribe  have  I  to  offer  him  ?  " 

As  he  meditates  he  chances  to  glance  through  the 
open  window  into  the  dining-room  and  there  sees  an 
expression  on  Doc  Guernsey's  face  that  makes  him 
think  with  startling  intuition:  "By  Heavens,  he  loves 
her!  She  can  do  it!  Evie  has  the  influence  that  I, 
Steinbergh,  cannot  obtain.  She  must  make  his  vote 
her  vote  and  then — I  will  buy  her  vote !  " 

A  moment  later  the  two  come  out  of  the  dining- 
room,  the  New  Yorker  offers  the  Westerner  one  of  his 
cigars,  and  as  they  smoke  the  gentlemen  grow  very 
friendly,  for  Steinbergh's  guarded  manner  to  Evelyn 
has  cast  out  jealousy  from  the  statesman's  strong  but 
simple  mind. 

"  You  can't  hear  the  murmur  of  the  sea  on  your  ve- 
randa," remarks  Guernsey. 

"And  yet  we  are  very  near  the  water,"  ^plies  Evie; 


HER  SENATOR.  145 

"but  the  ocean  is  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  What  a  day  it 
would  be  for  a  sail ! " 

"Would  you  like  one  ? "  queries  Steinbergh  suddenly. 
"We  always  keep  steam  up  off  the  pier.  What  do 
you  say  to  a  couple  hours'  run  to  Block  Island  ?  " 

'  *  Lovely !  "  cries  Evelyn.  ' '  You'll  come,  of  course, 
Mr.  Guernsey  ?  " 

'  'Of — of  course, "  falters  the  Senator,  souvenirs  of  some 
extraordinary  feelings  that  had  come  to  him  as  he  had 
journeyed  across  the  open  bay  on  the  steamer  from 
Newport,  tending  to  make  him  cautious  in  the  matter. 
Ten  minutes  later  they  are  all  on  board  the  Gold- 
finch, which  floats  on  the  water  like  a  great  white 
swan. 


146  HER  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    HOP    AT    THE    NARRAGANSETT    CASINO. 

ON  her  deck  the  gentlemen  contrive  to  enjoy  them- 
selves very  pleasantly ;  at  least  Guernsey  does,  for  Evie 
this  day  is  a  mixture  of  vivacious  artlessness  and  girl- 
ish frankness,  as  she  favors  her  Western  admirer  with 
one  or  two  of  those/£///<?.r  confidences  that  are  so  dear  to 
the  masculine  heart. 

Twice  she  says:  "You're  perfectly  awful!"  and 
once  she  tells  him  he  must  help  her  down  the  com- 
panion-ladder, his  arm  is  so  strong,  and  his  sailor 
feet  so  firm.  These  both  are  palpable  fibs,  for 
Guernsey  is  behaving  himself  very  well,  and  his  sea- 
legs  are  the  most  erratic  on  the  ship,  but  they  are  said 
in  tete-&-t$te  whispers  and  bring  joy  into  his  soul — 
which  is  growing  ardent  and  romantic. 

As  for  Steinbergh,  he  forces  himself  to  attentions  to 
the  Spanish  duenna,  whose  appearance  not  only  com- 
pels virtue,  but  offers  a  destroys  vice.  For  as  Mr. 
Guernsey  cogitates:  "She  would  discourage  even  a 
cowboy  on  a  spree." 

Consequently  La  Oriva's  beauty  does  not  tempt  the 
gentleman  from  Wall  Street  so  greatly  that  he  makes 
the  yachting  jaunt  a  long  one.  Besides,  the  Goldfinch  is 
very  fast  and  soon  takes  them  to  Block  Island,  where  the 
ocean  swell,  coming  all  the  way  from  Spain,  causes  the 
Western  landsman  suddenly  to  turn  pale  and  ejacu- 
late :  "Great  Scotty!"  and  a  minute  after  falter  : 
"  Hadn't  we  better  get  back  in  time  for — for  dinner  ?" 
Therefore  the  run  back  is  made  rapidly. 

By  the  time  they  are  off  the  Casino  landing-place, 


HER    SENATOR.  147 

Guernsey  has  recovered  sufficiently  to  offer  a  very  gallant 
arm  to  his  charmer,  as  she  trips  down  the  gangway  to  the 
steam-launch ;  the  fair  one  emitting  one  or  two  pathetic 
little  shudders  as  the  vessel  lurches,  and  clutching  very 
tightly  with  fairy  hands  the  stalwart  arm  of  the  gentle- 
man from  the  West — attentions  that  send  thrills  through 
his  strong  frame,  and  make  him  think  yachting  is  a  de- 
lightful pastime. 

Mr.  Steinbergh  does  not  accompany  them  to  the  shore  j 
he  waves  them  adieu  from  his  deck,  remarking:  "I 
am  compelled  to  return  immediately  to  Newport." 

He  doesn't  care  to  look  on  this  business  any  more, 
though  it  is  to  his  financial  interest.  And  once  or  twice 
as  his  vessel  glides  through  the  water,  making  for  the 
"  City  by  the  Sea,"  he  utters  a  suppressed  anathema, 
even  though  he  knows  that  he  has  probably  laid  the  foun- 
dation for  a  great  business  stroke.  But  business  does  not 
always  still  the  beating  of  the  heart,  and  the  chink  of  gold 
is  not  always  the  happiest  sound  upon  this  earth,  when  to 
gain  it  the  financier  is  compelled  to  turn  his  eyes  from 
beauty  and  the  hope  of  making  it  his  own. 

As  for  Mr.  Guernsey  no  such  unpleasant  feelings 
dominate  his  manly  bosom.  His  mien  becomes  more 
confident  as  they  near  the  shore.  The  thought  that 
he  is  approaching  terra  firma  makes  him  more  auda- 
cious. He  would  fairly  lift  the  sweet  widow  from  the 
steam  launch  did  he  not  suddenly  recollect  that  polite- 
ness might  require  a  similar  gallantry  to  her  duenna. 
Therefore,  he  simply  presents  his  hand  and  assists 
both  ladies  from  the  boat. 

Then  they  stroll  along  Ocean  Road,  taking  a  round- 
about way  to  the  little  cottage  on  Central  Street  It 
is  a  pleasant  walk,  made  gay  with  pretty  equipages  and 
dashing  turnouts;  a  four-in-hand  drives  past  them 
from  the  Country  Club,  with  tooting  horn  and  prancing 
steeds;  victorias  and  pony  phaetons  come  flying  in 


148  HER   SENATOR. 

review,  and  there  are  bikes  and  bikemen  and  bikesses 
innumerable.  The  place  is  bright  with  pretty  women 
in  fairy  toilettes  and  gallant  men  who  are  looking  after 
them,  for  "The  Pier"  is  the  one  watering-place 
supremely  blest  by  masculine  humanity  during  its 
season.  Newport  is  often  short  of  beaux,  but  Narra- 
gansett  always  has  enough.  Men  like  its  free-and- 
easy,  go-as-you-please,  do-what-you-choose  life,  and  its 
sea  bathing  is  the  finest  on  the  coast,  and  its  girls 
are  sample  beauties  from  the  four  points  of  the  com- 
pass. 

But  though  they  pause  to  gaze,  they  are  soon  at  the 
cottage  on  Central  Street.  Here  Mr.  Guernsey  takes 
his  farewell,  remarking: 

"  I  have  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  very  small  room  at 
the  Gladstone  !" 

"You  are  not  going  to  remain  long  ?"  whispers  the 
lady,  inquiry — perchance  entreaty  in  her  eyes. 

"Well,  that's  a  thing  to  be  determined  hereafter. " 

"  In  that  case  you  had  better  make  the  most  of  your 
time,"  laughs  Mrs.  Montressor.  "You  go  to  the 
Casino  this  evening,  I  presume  ?  There  will  be  music 
by  two  bands,  moon  and  electric  lights,  a  hop  in  the 
ballroom  and — me  /" 

' '  I'm  there  !  "  remarks  the  Senator  suddenly.  Then 
he  mutters,  for  somehow  he  is  growing  bold :  "I'll  come 
up  and  take  you  down." 

"You — you  don't  mind  Seftora  de  Oriva  accompany' 
ing  us  ? "  murmurs  Evelyn,  prodding  with  parasol 
a  little  boot  that  peeps  from  under  white  laces. 

"With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  I  dote  on  the 
Sefiora,"  remarks  Guernsey  enthusiastically,  as  he 
strides  down  the  gravel  walk ;  but  his  face  does  not 
show  the  eagerness  his  words  suggest. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  gentleman  presents  himself 
at  the  villa.  Evie,  cloaked  and  hooded,  is  awaiting 


HER  SENATOR.  149 

him;  likewise  the  Seftora,  who  has  just  received  a  letter 
from  her  son,  who  is  en  route  for  New  York. 

"My  noble,  truant  boy,  muchachito  mio !  when  you 
see  him  you'll  love  him,  Senor  Guernsey,"  she  mur- 
murs, and  puts  her  gaunt  bare  arm  upon  the  Senator's 
broadcloth  sleeve. 

"Yes,  he  must  be  a  hummer,"  says  the  Western 
man,  "judging  by  his  mother." 

"  Gracias  Senor  Senador !  You  do  me  too  much 
honor,"  murmers  the  dragon  courtesying  to  the  earth; 
a  moment  after  she  adds  in  kindly  tones,  "I  shall 
ask  you  to  look  after  Senora  Montressor  this  evening, 
as  I  do  not  dance.  I  know  lean  trust  a  high  official." 

"Of  that  I  must  take  my  chances,"  laughs  Evie, 
running  down  the  path  before  them. 

A  minute  after,  however,  she  places,  very  confiding- 
ly, a  tiny,  well-gloved  hand  upon  Guernsey's  arm,  and 
they  walk  down,  under  green  trees,  and  past  flowering 
hedges  to  the  center  of  the  town.  Then  going  in  by 
the  side  entrance  they  stand  in  the  Casino,  which  is 
now  a  blaze  of  electric  lights ;  upon  its  large  porticos, 
pavilion  and  tower,  are  fair  women  and  their  cavaliers, 
who  are  listening  to  the  music  of  the  Hungarian  band. 

"  You'll  come  in  to  the  hop?  "remarks  Evie  sud- 
denly. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  see  the  sights,"  and  he 
leads  her  and  her  chaperone  to  the  ladies'  dressing  room. 

From  this,  having  thrown  off  her  wraps,  Evie 
emerges  «n  a  gown  that  startles  and  allures  him,  for  it 
is  the  first  time  he  has  seen  her  in  full  evening  dress. 
The  toilettes  she  had  worn  at  Saratoga,  even  at 
hotel  hops,  had  been  demi-ones,  Evie  not  having  cared 
to  enter  greatly  into  the  general  social  life  of  the  place. 
Here,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  get  into  society, 
and  having, through  Senora  de  Oriva,  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  three  or  four  Washington  gentlemen,  one  or 


I5O  HER   SENATOR. 

two  of  whom  are  connected  with  foreign  embassies, and 
several  ladies  with  whom  her  chaperone  had  speaking 
acquaintance  at  Washington,  Mrs.  Montressor  has 
determined,  having  got  the  tip  of  her  finger  in,  to 
insinuate  her  fair  hand  and  make  a  big  fight  to  pull 
herself  bodily  into  the  social  swim  which  she  fondly 
hopes  will  take  her  as  far  as  possible  away  from  her 
deserted  Bohemia. 

Actuated  by  this  idea,  she  has  already  made  fearful 
inroads  into  her  campaign  money,  as  she  calls  it,  for 
toilettes  that  are  to  delight  mankind,  especially  this 
gentleman,  who  gazes  at  her,  his  eyes  growing  misty 
with  admiration.  Dreamy  blue  is  her  color  this  even- 
ing. She  is  a  mass  of  cloudy  effects,  sunshiny — rain- 
bowy ;  from  which  gleam  forth  arms  white  as  snow,  and 
neck,  shoulders  and  bust  dazzling  as  Parian  marble 
beneath  the  brilliant  lights  that  illumine  their  graceful 
curves.  Curiously  enough  she  wears  no  jewelry  save 
the  little  bracelet  the  Senator  had  clasped  upon  her 
arm  in  Saratoga,  when  she  thought  she  felt  his  mus- 
tache graze  her  wrist. 

A  minute  later  they  are  in  the  ballroom,  where  they 
make  the  Sefiora  comfortable,  seated  beside  a  lady  to 
whom  she  babbles  of  her  noble-hearted  boy,  Gonzalo. 
But  Guernsey  does  not  enjoy  the  hop,  for  Evie  accepts 
invitations  from  three  or  four  gentlemen  with  long 
mustaches  and  foreign  ways,  who  come  to  her  and  ask 
the  pleasure  of  the  dance.  He  thinks  that  young 
Signor  Boccaccio,  of  the  Italian  Legation,  holds  her 
perchance  a  little  too  tightly  as  they  circle  in  the 
mazes  of  the  waltz,  and  that  the  eyes  of  Monsieur  de 
Giers,  of  Belgium,  sparkle  too  brightly  as  he  leads  her 
through  a  quadrille,  and  that  young  Billy  Frostwater 
is  altogether  too  chipper  and  bold  as  he  suggests :  '  'What 
do  you  say  to  moonlight  in  the  tower  with  me,  and 
champagne  for  two  1 " 


HER   SENATOR.  I$I 

But  though  Evie  will  dance  with  gentlemen  she  will 
not  flirt  with  them — with  Guernsey's  eyes  upon  her. 

Therefore  she  says  laughingly  to  young  Mr.  Frost- 
water  :  ' '  The  tower  is  too  chilly  this  evening.  Persuade 
some  other  lady  to  the  rheumatism. " 

"Oh,  I  will,"  remarks  Mr.  Billy  with  the  usual  ef- 
frontery of  American  youth.  "There  are  lots  of  girls 
here  and  I  own  a  few  of  them." 

But  Evie  desires  to  know  a  few  of  these  girls  also, 
and  Mr.  Guernsey  stares  as  he  sees  how  much  trouble 
she  takes  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  those  ladies  with 
whom  she  is  already  upon  speaking  terms.  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  is  very  well  aware  that  social  distinction  comes 
to  a  woman  not  from  the  attentions  of  men,  but 
through  the  good  offices  of  her  own  sex. 

"  I'll — I'll  go  out  and  smoke  a  cigar  on  the  veranda/' 
the  Senator  remarks,  "while  you  talk  to  the  ladies." 

"  Not  at  all.  Let  me  present  you  to  Mrs.  Dacre  of 
Washington.  I  know  she  would  like  to  meet  you. " 

And  Mrs.  Dacre  does,  being  very  proud  and  happy  to 
encounter  a  new  United  States  Senator  of  whom  she  in- 
tends to  make  a  lion  during  the  Washington  season,  for 
Senators  are  very  great  men  in  the  capital  though  their 
merits  are  not  so  universally  recognized  throughout  the 
country  at  large.  Thus  Evie  parades  her  Senator  very 
deftly,  not  as  her  conquest,  but  as  her  friend,  a 
method  that  gives  her  social  distinction,  but  does  not 
make  her  enemies  among  her  own  sex. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Senator  gallantly  invites  the 
ladies  into  the  restaurant  for  supper,  and  Evelyn, 
though  she  is  hardly  aware  of  it  has  done  a  very  good 
social  stroke  for  herself  this  evening,  for  Mrs.  Dacre, 
though  very  modest  at  the  Pier,  is  a  grand  dame  in 
Washington  and  the  entree  to  her  house  is  a  little  social 
stepping-stone  at  the  capital. 

They  have  a  very  pleasant  hour  of  it  over  their  lob- 


152  HER   SENATOR. 

sters  and  champagne ;  the  party  being  joined  by  young 
Frostwater  and  the  maiden  he  has  honored  by  making 
his  tower  girl  this  evening.  She  chances  to  be  the 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Dacre  and  is  a  rather  pretty,  flippant 
miss  of  eighteen,  who  likes  men  to  tell  her  they  love 
her,  if  not  with  their  tongues  with  their  eyes;  though 
sometimes  she  is  accommodated  by  the  tongue  also. 

Turning  from  this  damsel,  young  Frostwater,  who 
being  adolescent  likes  ladies  slightly  his  senior,  devotes 
himself  at  the  supper  table  to  Evelyn,  drinking  care- 
lessly from  her  glass  and  crying,  "  Oh,  what  delicious 
fizz.  Ah,  excuse  my  mistake.  The  Widow's  glass. 
Twas  the  flavor  of  her  lips!" 

Effusions  that  make  the  Spanish  lady  glare  with  all 
her  hawk's  eyes  and  the  Honorable  James  G.  Guernsey 
cuss  "  Young  America  "  under  his  breath. 

Try  as  he  will  the  Senator  has  no  opportunity  of 
tttc-a-tetc  with  Evie,  and  bids  her  good-bye  at  her  door 
this  evening  somewhat  disappointedly,  though  the  lady 
suggests  that  she  will  be  at  the  bathing  place  during 
the  next  forenoon. 

"There  will  be  plenty  there,"  she  says,  "  and  if  you 
don't  take  a  dip  in  the  surf  you  can  enjoy  looking  on." 

"  Swimming  is  one  of  my  grand  holds!"  replies  the 
Senator  impressively.  '  *  You  can  rely  on  me, "  and  goes 
away  somewhat  mollified,  and  thinking  over  the  matter, 
mutters,  as  he  places  another  cigar  to  his  lips:  "I 
downed  that  financier  anyway,  and  as  for  that  young 
flippity-jib,  Frostwater,  she  wouldn't  go  to  the  tower 
with  him.  Some  day  I'll  try  her  on  that  excursion 
myself.  Some  day  I'll — I'll  make  a  darned  fool  of 
myself." 

Though  just  what  he  means  by  this  is  not  clear  even 
in  his  own  mind.  All  he  knows  is  that  the  widow  is 
prettier  and  more  fascinating  than  even  when  his  mus- 
tache brushed  her  wrist  at  Saratoga. 


HER   SENATOR.  153 

"Quite  a  society  bird,  too,"  he  thinks.  "And  bet- 
ter looking  than  any  of  the  high-falutins  Chippie  intro- 
duced me  to  at  Newport." 

As  for  the  lady,  she  is  discontented  also.  She  is 
snarling  at  herself  in  the  solitude  of  her  dainty  cham- 
ber, and  muttering:  "Thank  God,  even  to-day  he  gab- 
bled of  his  father  being  a  good  man !  That  is  my  safe- 
guard. That  keeps  me  from  despising  myself  !  That 
makes  my  conscience  clear!  He  said  his  sister  was 
traveling  in  Europe — in  luxury!  Where  is  my  sister? 
Besides,  he's  bad,  anyway ;  there  must  be  some  great, 
big,  awful,  BAD  spot  in  him.  He  is  the  son  of  his 
father!" 

Then,  suddenly,  blushes  run  over  her  fair  cheeks 
and  .snowy  shoulders,  as  she  thinks:  "Perchance  some 
day  I'll  find  out  how  wicked  he  really  can  be.  Some 
day  I  may  indeed  want  my  duenna!" 


154  HER  SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    THE   SHADOW    OF    THE    GELATINE    TRUST. 

THE  next  morning,  striding  along  Beach  Row,  the 
Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey  chances  to  encounter 
Mrs.  Montressor  without  chaperone.  She  is  in  the 
freshest  of  white  walking  dresses,  and  greets  the  Sena- 
tor very  easily  and  affably. 

"Suppose  we  walk  down  to  the  bathing  booth,"  she 
suggests. 

And  the  gentleman  assenting,  they  stroll  past  the 
old-time  affairs  with  their  awnings  in  front  of  them, 
and  from  there  on  to  Sherry's  magnificent  pavilion,  where 
the  band  is  playing.  The  scene  is  bright  with  color, 
the  sky  is  blue,  and  the  waves  are  as  soft  as  if  it  were 
an  Italian  sea.  The  surf  is  filled  with  five  hundred 
pretty  girls  and  five  hundred  athletic  young  men,  who 
are  playing  mermaids  and  mermen  among  the  breakers, 
swimming  out  to  the  rafts  and  sporting  generally 
with  Neptune  and  Cupid  at  the  same  time. 

"You  think  of  indulging  in  a  plunge? "  queries  the 
Senator,  eagerly.  Perchance  he  thinks  his  fair  com- 
panion would  look  very  well  in  a  Narragansett  bathing 
dress. 

"Not  this  morning.  Let  us  sit  by  Mrs.  Dacre  and 
listen  to  the  band." 

As  they  take  chairs,  Mr.  Guernsey,  from  a  passing 
newsboy,  buys  a  copy  of  one  of  the  New  York  papers  of 
the  morning,  these  journals  arriving  very  promptly 
each  day  about  the  hour  of  noon. 

While  he  glances  over  its  columns  the  ladies  chat  A 
minute  after,  their  confidences  are  arrested  by  a  sup- 
pressed execration  from  the  Western  gentleman,  who 


HER  SENATOR.  1 55 

is  biting  his  lips  over  something  he  is  reading  in  the 
paper. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  ask  the  ladies,  Mrs.  Dacre 
adding:  "You  use  strong  language !" 

"The  language  of  an  insulted  man.  You'll  excuse 
me,  ladies,  I  forgot  you  were  here ;  I  forgot  everything 
but  this  outrage.  Look  at  it!  " 

And  glancing  at  the  paper  Evie  sees  in  bold  type  and 
strong  headlines:  "IN  THE  TOILS  OF  THE  GELATINE  TRUST 

THE  NEW  SILVER  SENATOR  AND  THE  MAGNATE  OF  THE 

TRUST     ON     THE    LATTER*S    YACHT CHAMPAGNE    AND 

GELATINE  DUTIES ARE   THE   PEOPLE  TO   BE   BETRAYED 

ONCE  MORE  ? — WAS  IT  BY  APPOINTMENT?  " 

Beneath  them  is  half  a  column  of  telegraphic  com- 
munication full  of  insinuations  to  a  similar  effect  from 
the  Pier,  which  have  been  sent  by  some  enterprising  re- 
porter. Upon  this  subject  there  is  also  an  editorial, 
hoping  the  young  Senator  has  escaped  and  warning 
him  of  his  danger. 

"Isn't  it  an  outrage!  "  cries  Evie  excitedly. 

•'  It's  an  infernal  calumny!  "  mutters  Guernsey. 

"It's  a  cruel  shame!"  ejaculates  Mrs.  Dacre. 

A  moment  after  the  statesman  mutters:  "They've 
deprived  me  of  a  friend.  Steinbergh  and  I  would  have 
been  good  companions.  Not  that  it  would  have  affected 
my  vote  on  the  bill.  They  cut  me  off  from  social  inter- 
course with  a  man  I  liked  as  if  every  'good  morning' 
that  passed  between  us  was  a  cipher  communication, 
and  every  glass  of  wine  I  drank  with  him  was  a 
bribe. " 

Evie  looks  serious  also,  for  this  surely  shows  her 
two  things:  "  First;  that  the  omnipresent  reporter  has 
his  argus  eye  upon  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey, 
of  Populoso,  and  that  any  decided  flirtation  with  him  will 
doubtless  be  noted  and  commented  upon  by  the  jour- 
nals throughout  the  country.  Second;  that  this  is 


156  HER  SENATOR. 

probably  an  end  of  any  intimacy  between  the  Senator 
and  Steinbergh,  which  will  make  her  position  more 
embarrassing."  But  a  moment  after  she  laughs  to  her- 
self: "And  more  powerful 7  I  will  be  The  Gelatine 
Trust's  last  hope.  I  can  now  name  my  price  and 
Steinbergh  must  pay  it !  " 

Her  musings  are  broken  in  upon  by  Guernsey  re- 
marking placidly:  "  Excuse  my  impatience,  ladies!  I 
have  been  commented  upon  by  newspapers  before,  and 
my  skin  should  have  been  thicker.  To-day  I  am  out 
for  a  lark,  and  I  propose  to  throw  care  into  the  ocean. " 
With  this  he  tosses  the  paper  into  the  surf  that  has  run 
up  the  beach  and  is  playing  very  close  to  the  front  of 
the  pavilion. 

And  Guernsey  this  day  is  on  a  lark !  His  high  spirits 
communicate  themselves  to  Mrs.  Dacre,  who  listens  to 
his  stories  of  the  West,  in  one  of  which  he  stabs 
Evelyn,  telling  about  his  father  saving  a  child  from  a 
bear  and  what  a  noble  exponent  of  American  civiliza- 
tion the  old  gentleman  was,  closing  his  eulogium  by 
remarking,  "My  dad  founded  the  orphan  asylum,  you 
know,  at  Silveropolis." 

This  hardens  the  widow's  heart  against  him  and  her 
smiles  were  not  so  sunny  as  they  would  be  if  he  would 
let  his  papa's  memory  alone ;  and  she  determines  to 
play  her  game  very  cautiously.  She  knows  she  is 
dallying  with  edged  tools;  that  this  gentleman  whose 
heart  she  proposes  to  gain  and  whose  mind  she  pro- 
poses to  influence  is  so  high  in  the  political  world  that 
any  action  of  hers  in  regard  to  him  will  be  noted. 
"Mr.  Guernsey  and  myself,"  she  cogently  thinks, 
"must  play  our  little  rubber  under  an  awning  or  an 
umbrella. " 

Therefore  all  this  day  though  the  Solon  strives 
for  tete-a-l£i(  he  gets  very  little;  approaching  more 
nearly  perhaps  to  it  than  elsewhere  upon  the  crowded 


HER   SENATOR.  157 

piazza  cf  the  Casino,  to  which  place  they  stroll,  as 
is  the  custom,  to  sit  down  and  enjoy  refreshments  and 
music  immediately  before  lunch. 

Here  he  has  a  chance  to  say:  "  You  are  not  treating 
me  very  well.  Not  as  nicely  as  at  Saratoga." 

"No?  Why?"  queries  the  lady,  pretending  not  to 
understand  him. 

"Well,  up  at  the  Springs  I  saw  a  good  deal  more  of 
you,  and  other  fellows  saw  a  good  deal  less." 

The  lady  has  been  talking  with  some  passing  gentle- 
men. 

"Ah,  there  I  had  but  few  friends.  Besides,  you 
would  not  have  reporters  put  my  name  in  the  naughty 
papers  beside  yours,  would  you  ?" 

At  this  Mr.  Guernsey  grinds  his  teeth,  as  if  the  loss 
of  Steinbergh  was  as  nothing  to  the  bar  to  intimacy 
that  is  now  put  on  him. 

"  I  wouldn't  care,"  he  says  shortly. 

"No?"  And  her  open  blue  eyes  look  at  him 
frankly. 

"  No,  I'll  be "  here  he  checks  himself.  "  I'll  be 

blessed  if  I  would." 

"Yes,  but  you  must  remember  me,"  she  murmurs; 
then  falters  impulsively,  "Thank  you  for  the  compli- 
ment!" This  last  with  a  veiled  glance  that  makes 
Guernsey  that  afternoon  at  the  Gladstone  eat  his 
dinner  in  a  joyous  trance. 

The  next  morning  a  telegraph  boy  brings  a  little  yel- 
low envelope  to  the  villa,  and  opening  it  Evie  gives  a 
cry  of  joy. 

"  I  know  what  that  means,"  she  thinks  as  she  reads: 

Please  come  to  New  York  at  once;  I  want  to  see  you  about 
an  investment  in  stocks. 

STEINBERGH. 

"The  first  time  it  was /who 'asked  him  to  invest. 
This  time  he  makes  petition."  she  laughs,  and  fortu- 


158  HER   SENATOR. 

nately  catching  the  eleven  o'clock  train  from  Narra- 
gansett,  is  at  the  Waldorf  that  afternoon. 

She  has  wired  her  address  to  the  financier,  and  he 
calls  upon  her.  "I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
coming  in  this  fearful  hot  weather  to  New  York,"  he 
says.  "Let  us  try  to  get  a  little  cool  air  together. 
How  would  you  like  to  drive  to  Fort  Washington  for 
dinner,  and  as  we  return,  I  will  tell  you  something  I 
have  done  for  you." 

"I'll  go  driving  with  you  with  pleasure,"  answers 
the  lady.  Then  looking  at  him  sighs:  "I  fear  it 
must  be  for  the  last  time." 

"That  is  what  I  fear  also,"  answers  the  financier, 
"  and  it  is  in  that  regard  that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Therefore,  after  dinner,  by  the  pretty  banks  of  the 
Hudson  on  the  veranda  of  the  hotel  at  Fort  Washing- 
ton, Mr.  Steinbergh  says  diplomatically,  yet  almost 
pathetically:  "I  have  been  thinking  of  your  future." 

"Well,  tell  me  about  it." 

"Not  on  this  crowded  portico!  Somebody  may 
have  large  ears.  As  we  drive  back  together — if  you 
will  permit  me  I  will  send  my  groom  to  town  by  rail — 
there  is  no  place  more  safe  for  important  communica- 
tions than  the  t&te-b-tcte  of  an  open  phaeton  flying  along 
the  road. " 

"As  you  please,"  answers  the  lady. 

A  few  minutes  after,  these  arrangements  have  been 
made,  and  as  they  drive  down  St.  Nicholas  avenue, 
Mr.  Steinbergh's  oair  of  magnificent  grays  are  their 
only  confidants. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  your  future,"  remarks  the 
financier.  "I  have  suffered,  for  I  have  relinquished  a 
hope "  here  he  can  feel  the  lady  at  his  side  give  a  lit- 
tle start,  but  she  is  too  diplomatic  to  ask  what  hope. 
"I  see  that  you  have  determined  upon  a  life  in  Wash- 
ington. I  will  aid  you  to  it.  A  very  handsome  apart- 


HER   SENATOR.  159 

ment  magnificently  furnished  with  the  proper  serrants 
and  an  equipage  will  be  at  your  service  with  sufficient 
money  to  properly  support  it.  I  have  also  taken  the 
liberty,  Mrs.  Montressor,  of  speculating  a  little  more 
for  you  in  stocks.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  assur- 
ance." 

"  I  will,"  cries  Evie  excitedly,  "if  you  won\ " 

"You're  like  the  world,  "he  laughs.  "It  will  excuse 
anything  but  failure.  But,  as  usual,  I  won.  My 
brokers  paid  in  on  your  account  to-day  ten  thousand 
four  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  and  twenty-seven 
cents.  Here  is  a  statement  of  the  sales  and  purchases. 
Here  is  their  check  for  the  amount  attached  and  their 
account."  He  hands  her  an  envelope. 

"You  are  pardoned!  "  remarks  Evie.  "  Now,  with 
regard  to  my  equipage.  If  I  am  to  establish  a  car- 
riage in  Washington,  I  should  also  keep  one  at  Narra- 
gansett;  otherwise  it  might  excite  comment." 

"Aha!  What  a  business  woman  you  are.  You  have 
a  fine  brain,"  replies  Steinbergh.  "What  would  you 
say  to  a  pretty  little  pony  phaeton  and  pair  of  high- 
steppers,  with  a  nice  little  groom  on  the  rumble,  for 
the  seaside?" 

<;  Yes,  a  victoria  also.  I  wish  to  do  the  thing  prop- 
erly." Then  she  adds:  "And  what  do  you  expect  for 
all  this?" 

His  answer  surprises  her.  She  had  expected  a  direct 
request  for  her  aid.  But  the  financier  merely  says : 
"'Your  friendship — your  influence.  At  a  certain  time 
I  shall  make  a  certain  investment  for  you.  You  know 
enough  to  be  aware  that  if  a  stock  that  you  hold  goes 
up  in  the  market,  you  make  money.  If  a  stock  goes 
down,  you  lose  money.  Some  day  in  the  future  I  shall 
write  to  you  that  I  have  bought  for  your  account  and 
risk  so  many  shares." 

"  Hundreds  ?  "  asks  the  lady  anxiously. 


l6o  HER  SENATOR. 

"No,  THOUSANDS!"  answers  Mr.  Steinbergh  calmly, 
"  of  a  certain  stock.  You  are  bright  enough  to  know 
that  if  a  certain  bill  passes  Congress  you  will  be  rich. 
But  that  if  a  certain  bill  does  not  pass  Congress  you'll 
be  poor.  Act  then,  at  your  pleasure." 

"You're  very  kind,"  murmurs  Mrs.  Montressor. 
"  You  have  always  been  good  to  me.  You  only  now 
ask  me  to  help  myself, that  is  all." 

Then  she  adds :  ' '  Please  explain  this  matter  a 
little  further.  If  I  am  to  aid  you,  I  must  understand 
the  affair  thoroughly.  You  say,  if  I  hold  the  stock 
and  it  goes  up,  I  make  money.  But  this  stock  has 
gone  down  and  I  have  made  money,  as  well  as  I  can 
see  by  the  accounts." 

"Yes,  you  were  again  a  bear,  a  naughty  bear,  one  of 
that  kind  of  wicked  people  who  sell  things  before  they 
buy  them.  You  see,  we  are — this  is  entirely  a  matter 
of  confidence — we  are  compelled  to  force  the  stock  to 
sell  down  in  order  that  a  certain  number  of  our  law- 
makers at  a  proper  time  can  buy  at  low  figures.  Then, 
of  course,  they  will  be  anxious  for  their  holdings  to 
rise  in  value,  and  will  pass  the  proper  bill  to  make 
it  go  up!  We  are  not  bribing  them  —  they  are 
merely  using  some  hints  of  ours  to  benefit  their 
pockets.  '* 

"Oh,  I  see,"  answers  Mrs.  Montressor;  "Gelatine 
stock  will  go  down  until  Congress  is  in  session  and  a 
number  of  its  members  buy  it." 

"Yes,  and  after  they  have  bought  it  we  may  give 
them  a  little  lesson,  we  may  put  it  a  little  lower  to 
stimulate  them  to  exert  themselves  to  add  to  its  finan- 
cial value — but  this  is  confidential.  On  your  honor 
you  will  say  no  word  of  it  to  any  one.  You  are  the 
only  woman  I  would  trust  with  such  a  secret.  But  we 
are  at  the  Waldorf.  I  will  say  adieu,  as  I  may  not  see 
you  again  soon." 


HER  SENATOR.  l6l 

So  he  goes  away  with  a  pathetic  look  in  his  eyes,  for 
Steinbergh  has  given  up  something  he  has  longed  for 
very  much,  and  women  seem  more  beautiful  as  you 
know  they  are  passing  out  of  your  life. 

On  going  to  her  own  room  at  the  hotel,  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  inspects  quite  carefully  the  account  of  pur- 
chases and  sales  that  the  financier  has  handed  to  her. 
It  is  evident  to  her  the  stock  was  sold  first  and 
purchased  a  few  days  later  at  lower  figures. 

"Ah!  Gelatine  is  going  down,"  she  says.  "They 
are  compelled  to  put  it  lower  at  least  until  Congress 
meets." 

That  is  a  month  or  two  anyway.  Then  suddenly  her 
bright  eyes  grow  big  with  financial  cunning.  She  thinks 
' '  Why  should  I  not  play  bear  also  on  my  own  account  ?" 
then  cries  "Aha!  Mr.  Steinbergh!  I  shall  do  for 

myself  what  you  did  for  me.  I  have "  she  looks  at 

the  check  that  the  magnate  has  given  her  which  bears 
the  signature  of  a  well-known  stock  broking  firm,  "  the 
wherewithal  to  go  short  of  Gelatine  myself."  And  she 
laughs  triumphantly,  chuckling  daintily  at  her  fair  self 
in  the  mirror.  "You  will  be  rich  soon,  you  naughty 
lady  bear  speculator!" 

Acting  on  this  idea,  the  next  morning  Evie  causes 
herself  to  be  driven  to  the  up-town  office  of  a  promi- 
nent firm  of  brokers  and,  depositing  her  check  with 
them,  directs  them  to  sell  as  much  of  the  Gelatine 
stock  as  they  can  for  the  money  she  nas;  reasoning, 
with  greedy  logic,  "  The  more  I  sell,  the  more  I  make." 

The  gentleman  in  charge  of  their  up-town  office  hes- 
itates a  little  over  this  order,  and  advises  her  to  sell  in 
reason,  but  finally,  urged  by  her,  agrees  to  short  for 
her  account  and  risk  three  thousand  shares  of  Gelatine 
stock,  if  she  will  give  him  what  is  technically  called  a 
"stop  order"  to  close  her  out  at  three  points  up.  This 
she  willingly  does,  and  goes  away  laughing  to  herself; 


162  HER   SENATOR. 

"  He  doesn't  know  much.  How  can  it  go  up  when  the 
company  are  putting  it  down  ?" 

But  she  never  whispers  a  word  to  any  one  of  Mr. 
Steinbergh's  confidence;  that,  honor  compels  her  to 
lock  in  her  own  fair  bosom. 

Six  hours  later,  Mrs.  Montressor  is  once  more  at 
Narragansett.  Here,  to  her  disappointment,  she  finds 
no  Senator.  Mr.  Guernsey  has  run  over  to  Newport 
at  the  invitation  of  his  colleague,  Mr.  Chippie. 

"He  was  very  indignant,"  remarks  the  Senora, 
"that  you  had  gone  to  ^New  York  without  saying 
adios  to  him." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  I  would  return  to-day?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  but  he  had  business  at  Newport." 

This  is  partly  true  and  yet  not  altogether,  as  Mr. 
Guernsey  is  in  a  huff  and  he  doesn't  return  from  New. 
port  for  three  or  four  days,  which  makes  Evelyn  con- 
templative. 

She  would  be  more  uneasy  did  she  know  that  a 
Newport  widow  with  six  unmarriageable  daughters  has 
put  eyes  upon  the  Western  senator,  who  has  been 
introduced  to  her  by  his  colleague.  This  lady,  Mrs. 
Josselyn,  is,  as  regards  blood  and  family,  a  member  of 
the  New  York  Four  Hundred,  as  regards  fortune — 
only  a  hanger  on  at  its  gayeties  and  fetes.  She  has 
decided  that  Marjorie,  her  third  unmarriageable 
child,  is  to  become  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Guernsey.  She 
has  been  in  Newport  angling  for  French  Barons, 
Italian  Counts  and  a  scion  or  two  of  the  British  nobility, 
and  having  found  them  impossible  without  dots,  has 
then  said  proudly:  "I  will  be  an  American  mother. 
My  daughter  shall  marry  one  of  her  own  noble  country- 
men, who  care  not  to  receive  money  with  their  brides." 

In  this  view  she  has  put  her  eyes  upon  the  unfortu- 
nate Guernsey,  and,  as  he  remarks  to  himself,  is  giv- 
ing him  more  trouble  than  the  reporters. 


HER  SENATOR.  l6j 

Other  things  also  would  come  in  to  the  destruction 
of  Evie's  plans,  if  Guernsey  would  permit  them.  But 
it  only  takes  a  glance  from  her  bright  eyes  to  make 
him  forget  Newport  fashionables  and  the  terrors  of 
the  press. 

But,  just  at  this  time,  a  financial  accident 
occurs  to  Mrs.  Montressor  that  causes  her  to  shed 
some  secret  tears,  but  gives  her  an  even  firmer  hold 
on  the  affections  of  the  Western  man,  whose  great  big 
heart  she  has  now  got  in  both  her  tiny  hands,  giving 
him  arterial  throbs  whenever  she  pleases. 

On  his  return  from  Newport,  Guernsey  had  re- 
proached her  with  going  away  without  saying  good- 
bye to  him.  "  That  is  the  second  time  you  have  done 
that,  Miss,"  he  says.  "  Once  in  Saratoga  you  slipped 
away  like  a  shadow  in  the  night  and  now  you  flit  again 
from  Narragansett,  making  me  think  the  spring  water 
was  no  good  in  one  place  and  the  sea-bathing  of  no 
account  in  the  other.  Now  the  next  time  you  play 
such  a  trick  upon  me,  I'm  going  after  you. " 

"With  such  a  threat,  I  shall  run  away  to-morrow!  " 
cries  Evie,  laughingly. 

"Don't  make  a  joke  of  it,"  he  mutters  almost 
pathetically.  "  You  don't  know  how  your  slights  hurt 
me.  Now  I  mean  what  I  say,  Sis!  "he  adds  more 
sternly,  playfully  assuming  a  fatherly  manner  and 
taking  her  pretty  ear  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger. 

It  is  his  first  approach  to  familiarity  save  when  her 
wrist  looked  so  temptingly  beautiful  to  him  by  Lake 
Lonely,  and  he  is  rather  anxious  as  to  how  she  will 
take  it. 

But  Evie  is  very  well  up  in  games  of  this  kind,  and 
though  a  delightful  blush  flies  over  her  cheeks,  she 
merely  gives  him  a  demure  courtesy  and  murmurs, 
"Yes,  sir!"  which  goes  to  his  heart  more  than  any. 


164  HER   SENATOR. 

thing  she  has  done.  For  getting  away  from  this  inter* 
view  he  smites  his  broad  breast  and  mutters:  ''Looks 
up  to  me !  Yes,  sir,  looks  right  up  to  me  and  does  what  I 
tell  her!  She  explained  the  matter,  too,  very  well. 
She  had  business  about  some  stocks  she's  interested 
in — Gelatine,  I  believe.  I  suppose  she's  quite  com- 
fortably fixed,  too." 

Mr.  Guernsey  has  noticed  a  cute  little  pony  phaeton 
with  a  dapper  little  groom  standing  in  front  of  Evie's 
cottage,  and  has  hoped  to  be  asked  to  ride  in  it,  but  as 
yet  has  not  reached  that  felicity. 

Two  days  after  he  calls  and  is  informed  that  Mrs. 
Montressor  is  too  ill  to  see  him. 

"Too  tin  Great  thunder,  what's  the  matter  with 
her  ?  She  looked  deliciously  well  half  an  hour  ago  on 
the  veranda  of  the  Casino." 

"It's  some  awful  news  from  some  stealing  stock- 
brokers," remarks  Sefiora  de  Oriva  savagely.  "She 
has  been  beguiled,  poor  girl,  into  investing  in  that 
robber  of  a  Wall  street. " 

"Ask  her  if  she  won't  see  me.  Ask  her  if  I  can 
help  her  in  any  way,"  mutters  the  Senator. 

But  Evie  will  not  see  him.  She  sends  him  a  cour- 
teous message  thanking  him  for  his  kind  offer  ;  and 
the  next  morning  when  he  calls  again  he  receives  a 
little  note  which  reads  as  follows  : 

DEAR  MR.  GUERNSEY  :  Many,  many  thanks  for  your  kindness, 
but  I  suppose  I  have  displeased  you  again.  I  have  gone  to 
New  York  on  business.  I  could  not  accept  the  pleasure  of  your 
society  on  the  trip.  A  moment's  thought  will  tell  you  why.  I 
shall  be  back  to-morrow  morning.  Until  then  an  revoir. 
Most  gratefully, 

EVELYN  MONTRESSOR. 

This  makes  the  Senator  scowl.  He  demands  inter- 
view with  La  Oriva,  and  questioning  the  duenna  learns 
that  it  is  some  investment  in  stocks,  the  Gelatine,  she 
thinks,  that  has  robbed  Evelyn  of  her  wealth. 


HER  SENATOR.  165 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  falters  Guernsey.  And 
getting  hold  of  a  paper — for  stock  quotations  are  hard 
to  obtain  at  Narragansett — he  looks  up  the  price  of 
Gelatine  stock,  and  mutters :  ' '  This  is  awfully  curious. 
I  can't  understand  it.  Darn  me  if  it  hasn't  gone  up 
four  points  in  the  last  two  days." 

And  this  is  true.  Evie's  sickness  had  been  brought 
about  by  an  awful  note  from  her  brokers  which  read  as 
follows: 

DEAR  MADAME  :  As  the  stock  of  the  Gelatine  Company  has 
advanced  this  day  three  per  cent,  over  your  selling  price,  accord- 
ing to  your  written  orders  we  have  bought  in  for  your  account 
three  thousand  shares  of  the  same  and  hold  to  your  credit  the 
sum  of  four  hundred  and  seventeen  dollars  and  seventeen  cents, 
which  is  at  your  order. 

Any  further  commands  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  execute  on 
receipt  of  sufficient  margin  for  same. 

Yours  most  respectfully,  M.  DE  CASTILIO  &  Co. 

It  is  with  this  horrible  note  in  her  pocket  and  an  anx- 
ious, pale,  almost  frightened  face  that  Evie  makes  her 
way  into  the  private  office  of  Mr.  Steinbergh  in  Wall 
Street.  Her  appearance  is  such  that  it  really  frightens 
the  jovial  financier. 

"Great  Heavens!  What  has  happened?"  he  says 
hurriedly. 

On  this  his  fair  client,  though  it  hurts  her  pride  woe- 
fully, is  compelled  to  make  revelation  of  her  specula- 
tion on  her  own  account. 

"See  the  note  those  villains  Castilio  &  Co.  have 
sent  me,"  she  mutters,  and  goes  into  so  pathetic  a  re- 
cital that  Steinbergh,  in  spite  of  himself,  laughs  until 
the  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks. 

"Ah,  my  pet  lamb  in  Wall  Street  has  been  shorn," 
he  murmurs.  "And  what  a  greedy  little  lamb  it  was! 
Sold  three  thousand.  I  wondered  where  that  stock 
came  from.  Besides,  it  inspired  other  short  sellers  to 
such  an  extent  that  we  were  compelled  to  put  the 


166  HER   SENATOR. 

market  up  on  them.  However,  I  think  I  can  repair 
the  damage  to  your  pocket,  as  I  have  most  of  your 
money  in  my  own  bank  account  at  the  present  moment, 
barring  a  little  lost  from  the  friction  of  finance,  com- 
missions, etc.  But  you  must  not  speculate.  Promise 
me  that.  Only  speculate  when  I  tell  you  to." 

"Very  well,"  mutters  Evie,  half  sullenly,  for  his 
merriment  has  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  that  hurts  her  busi- 
ness pride.  "  Work  out  my  account  for  me.  Here 'it 
is."  She  hands  him  the  statement  of  Castilio  &  Co. 

"  With  pleasure,"  he  says,  "  and  furthermore  I  think 
you  had  better  provide  your  own  equipages  and  select 
your  own  apartments  in  Washington.  Any  effort  of 
mine  in  that  way  in  your  behalf  might  be  misunder- 
stood, if  known. " 

"Yes,  that  is  much  better,  kind  Mr.  Steinbergh," 
cries  Evie. 

Then  she  is  very  penitent,  and  promises  to  use  every 
influence  to  make  the  Gelatine  stock  go  up,  that  he 
will  buy  for  her  when  the  proper  time  comes,  and  goes 
away  much  relieved. 

She  receives,  however,  much  greater  comfort  a  week 
after  this,  when  she  gets  a  note  from  dear,  good,  kind 
Castilio  &  Co.,  inclosing  a  statement  of  certain  opera- 
tions they  have  made  at  her  order,  and  stating  that  a 
balance  of  over  fifteen  thousand  dollars  is  to  her  credit 
with  that  well-known  firm. 

But  Mr.  Guernsey  does  not  agree  with  Evie  in  her 
ideas  of  Wall  Street.  On  her  return  he  has  cursed  stock- 
brokers up  and  down  and  black  and  white,  muttering: 
"  Been  robbing  you,  eh !  Wait  until  I  get  at  'em  in  the 
United  States  Senate,"  in  away  that  has  frightened  her 
— for  she  wants  her  Senator  to  be  very  mild  with  the 
Gelatine  Trust  the  coming  session. 


HER   SENATOR.  1 67 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   AMBIGUOUS   KISS. 

BUT  just  about  this  time  a  certain  yonng  gentleman 
of  pale,  romantic  complexion,  very  dark  eyes,  very 
white  teeth,  very  short  black  hair  and  very  long 
mustachios,  bearing  the  name  of  Gonzalo  de  Oriva, 
makes  his  appearance  upon  the  scene  and  Guernsey 
forgets  the  god  of  money  in  the  demon  of  jealousy. 

This  Gonzalo  is  a  creature  of  freaks,  sensations,  and 
sudden  frenzies.  He  steps  into  Evelyn's  life  almost 
m  the  theatrical  manner  of  the  modern  drama,  a  mass 
of  impetuous  passion  and  amatory  fire-works. 

It  is  a  day  of  triumph  at  Narragansett !  The  great 
polo  game  between  the  Rockaways  and  Myopias  is  to 
take  place  at  the  Country  Club,  and  Newport  is  coming 
over  to  take  a  look  at  it.  Around  the  green  turf  of 
the  Polo  field  is  gathered  a  mass  of  equipages,  from 
four-in-hand  drag  to  donkey  cart;  all  covered  with 
pretty  women  in  chic  summer  toilettes,  with  para- 
sols galore  and  flaunting  ribbons  and  rustling  laces 
that  gleam  under  the  summer  sun. 

"The  Newport  swells  are  here  in  force,  aren't  they? 
But  they'll  find  the  Pier  up  to  date,"  says  Billy  Frost- 
water  to  Mrs.  Montressor,  as  he  leans  against  the  big 
patent  leather  dashboard  of  her  phaeton.  "  '  City-by- 
the-Sea '  girls  may  be  fin-de-sttcle^  but  I'm  hanged  if 
they're  as  pretty  as  our  surf  paddlers."  And  he  eyes 
critically  Mrs.  Josselyn,  who  has  brought  over  her 
third  unmarriageable  daughter,  Marjorie,  to  make  an- 
other attempt  on  the  heart  of  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Guernse 


1 68  HER   SENATOR.  • 

These  ladies  are  sitting  in  a  nearby  victoria,  and  the 
Senator  is  just  taking  his  hat  off  to  them. 

"Our  Honorable  friend  seems  to  be  quite  chummy 
with  Newport,"  he  goes  on.  "My,  doesn't  the  girl 
eye  him!  See  how  she  blushes!  Every  pimple  on  her 
face  loves  him.  You  don't  know  'em,  do  you  ? " 

"No;  I  haven't  sufficient  fortune  to  swim  in  the 
Newport  pool,"  remarks  Evie,  perchance  a  little  bit- 
terly, though  she  controls  herself  quite  well,  knowing 
that  young  Mr.  Billy  is  intent  on  giving  her  a  pang  in 
return  for  the  many  she  has  given  him  in  the  last 
month  or  two,  as  she  has  refused  that  gentle- 
man champagne  t$te-a  tttes  in  the  tower;  for  young 
Mr.  Frostwater  would  like,  as  he  expresses  it  to  him- 
self, "to  make  a  mash  on  the  widow" — girls  have 
palled  on  his  palate — only  she  will  not  let  him. 

A  few  minutes  after  Mr.  Guernsey,  straying  from 
the  side  of  the  Newport  victoria,  strolls  over  to  Eve- 
lyn's pretty  pony  phaeton,  to  get  a  shock  in  his  turn. 
A  short-haired,  dark-eyed,  white-toothed  man  is  sit- 
ting in  the  place  that  he  considers  his  own,  and  is  gaz- 
ing romantically  into  the  sapphire  eyes  of  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor.  The  next  moment  Evelyn  begs  to  present 
Seftor  Gonzalo  de  Oriva  to  the  Honorable  Mr.  Guern- 
sey, mentioning  the  young  man,  who  has  a  haughty  yet 
romantic  air,  as  the  son  of  her  chaperone,  who  has  just 
returned  from  Cuba. 

"Yes,  with  my  life  I  escaped,"  murmurs  the  gentle- 
man. "  They  would  have  liked  my  blood,  for  I  am, 
mark  you,  Seiior  Scnador,  a  man  whose  heart  the  Queen 
of  Spain  would  delight  to  dine  off." 

"Is  she  so  hungry  as  that,  poor  queen  ?"  remarks 
the  Senator,  grimly. 

"  But  I  have  escaped  her  teeth,"  continues  Gonzalo, 
whose  thoughts  are  apparently  only  on  himself,  "to  be 
the  victim  of  another  lady,  at  whose  service  my  heart 


HER   SENATOR.  ffy 

is. "  And  he  places  his  hand  upon  his  breast  and  bows 
down  before  Evelyn,  who  deigns  to  blush  becomingly 
under  the  young  Spanish  gentleman's  impassioned 
glances. 

But  he  gives  no  chance  for  answer,  crying:  "Ah! 
they  are  running  after  the  ball  again.  Caramba  !  that 
was  a  stroke  worthy  of  a  caballero;"  then  mutters 
savagely:  "Cut  their  hearts  out!  Down  with  them, 
the  accursed  Blues  !  Ah,  one  of  the  ladroncs  is  killed, 
his  horse  has  rolled  on  him.  Slay  him  before  he  rises!  " 

With  this  Gonzalo  makes  his  way  excitedly  toward  a 
portion  of  the  field  where  an  unfortunate  Rockaway 
man  has  come  to  grief  on  account  of  his  pony  falling. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him  ?"  asks  the  Senator 
grimly.  "Is  he  crazy  ?  " 

"No,"  laughs  Evelyn,  "only  I  am  wearing  the 
Myopia  colors  and  Senor  Gonzalo  thinks  it  his  duty  to 
wish  the  opposing  Rockaways  death.  I  had  no  idea 
he  was  so  impassioned  or  I  should  not  have  asked  him 
to  come  with  me,"  murmurs  the  lady,  bushing  vividly 
as  she  remembers  some  of  the  Spaniard's  raptures  dur- 
ing tete-b-tete  drive  in  the  widow's  phaeton. 

"You you  drove  him  over?"  says  Guernsey  in 

austere  voice. 

"Yes,  why  not  ?  I  had  to  have  a  gallant,  and  you 
were  not  available.  You  came  here  with  Mrs.  Josselyn 
and  daughter.  Ah,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Chippie  has 
introduced  you  to  Newport  blue  blood." 

"Not  to  your  disadvantage,  madame,  by  Heaven  ! " 
mutters  the  Solon,  for  the  widow  has  emphasized  her 
plaint  with  a  veiled  glance  that  makes  the  statesman's 
heart  feel  very  young. 

But  romance  gives  way  to  the  sports  of  the  chase, 
as  Evie  is  laughing  until  the  tears  are  ^n  her  eyes,  and 
crying  :  ''  See  Johnson's  dog!  " 

For  a  yellow-haired  Irish  terrier,  to  the  rage  of  th" 


170  HER   SENATOR. 

polo  teams,  is  making  a  raid  upon  the  ball  almost  under 
the  feet  of  the  ponies.  "  Look!  Bobby  Scott  is  mak- 
ing for  him,"  shrieks  Evie.  "If  that  young  centaur 
gets  a  crack  at  Johnson's  pup,  he  will  never  appear  in 
the  dog  show  again." 

But  Johnson's  dog  scurries  wildly  from  the  avenging 
polo  mallet  of  Mr.  Scott,  of  the  Myopias,  and  takes 
refuge  in  the  crowd,  where  his  master  does  not  appear 
to  own  him. 

From  this  episode  the  Cuban  returns  to  the  fair 
widow's  side,  remarking:  "If  I  could  have  caught 
the  cur,  I  would  have  presented  Senor  Scott  with 
his  heart  this  afternoon  at  the  Casino.  He  wears 
your  colors.  He  rides  like  a  vaquero.  He  cares  no 
more  for  his  horse  than  a  toreador."  Then  Gonzalo 
turns  to  the  statesman,  and,  with  an  affable  wave  of  his 
hand,  remarks :  ' '  Your  ladies  are  looking  anxiously  for 
you,  Senor  Senador.  See !  the  senorita  with  the  white 
parasol  and  spotted  face  waves  her  hand  unto  you." 

As  this  is  unfortunately  true,  Guernsey  takes  his 
way  from  the  widow's  phaeton  toward  the  Newport 
equipage  and  Mrs.  Josselyn  and  her  third  unmar- 
riageable  daughter  Marjorie,  whose  vivid  summer 
freckles  Senor  Gonzalo  has,  in  his  limited  knowledge 
of  English,  designated  as  "spots." 

With  this,  coolly  seating  himself  by  the  widow's  side 
in  her  phaeton,  Senor  de  Oriva  goes  into  a  tropic 
frenzy,  and  looking  at  her  beautiful  eyes  and  exquisite 
figure,  is  very  full  of  Romeo  antics. 

As  they  drive  home,  he  gazes  at  her  and  makes  his 
big  eyes  look  like  coals  of  fire.  She  shudders,  for  she 
is  growing  somewhat  frightened  of  him,  as  he  mutters: 
"To-day  for  the  first  time,  I  LIVE!" 

"A  baby  one  day  old?"  giggles  Mrs.  Montressor 
nervously.  Her  laugh  is  almost  echoed  by  her  groom 
Sammy  in  the  rumble  behind,  who  is  strutting  to  keep 


HER   SENATOR.  17 1 

the  straight  face  of  a  flunkey.  What  must  not  these 
poor  creatures  suffer  who  have  witty  masters? 

"  One  day  old,  but  not  a  baby.  One  day  old!  One 
day  of  love!  A  baby  this  morning,  a  man  to-night! 
Perhaps  a  corpse  to-morrow  morning.  No  telling." 
Then  he  mutters  in  Spanish  pathos:  "You  must  be 
kind  to  your  poor  Gonzalo.  Were  he  to  die  his  mother's 
heart  would  break." 

But  Evelyn  has  made  up  her  mind  to  at  least  curb 
Gonzalo's  tongue  if  she  cannot  control  his  eyes,  and 
takes  this  opportunity,  saying  merrily:  "I  hope  you 
will  kill  yourself." 

"  Dios!  You  command  me  to  suicide?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  never  had  a  man  kill  himself  for  me 
yet.  I  would  like  to  discover  how  it  feels.  I  think  I 
could  bear  your  loss  perhaps  better  than  I  could  that  of 
others." 

"Santos!  There  are  others!"  he  hisses,  next  mutters 
sardonically,  "Diablo  !  You  wish  me  to  commit  suicide. 
Then  I  shall  not  do  eet.  Your  manner,  your  indiffer- 
ence, your  cold  heart  tells  me  I  have  a  rival. "  Here  he 
grinds  his  teeth  together.  "It  ees  him  I  will  slay! 
Ah,  you  are  afraid.  But  I  would  not  hurt  you.  Not 
one  hair  of  gold,  not  one  tress  will  Gonzalo  touch,  save 
to  kees  and  to  caress." 

"  You  will  not  even  do  it  for  that  purpose,"  mutters 
Mrs.  Montressor,  checking  her  horses  suddenly  at  the 
gate  of  her  cottage  garden,  and,  springing  out,  she 
runs  into  the  house,  leaving  Sefior  Gonzalo  alone  with 
dapper  little  Sammy,  who  has  sprung  to  the  horses' 
heads. 

" Muchacho!"  remarks  the  Cuban,  sternly;  but  get- 
ting no  response  to  this,  he  cries  out,  savagely,  ' '  BOY  !  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replies  Sammy,  touching  his  hat  and 
holding  out  his  hand  for  a  quarter,  which  he  does  not 
get;  for  Sefior  Gonzalo  remarks,  in  deepest  tones  "Boy, 


172  HER   SENATOR. 

if  you  utter  a  word  of  what  I  told  the  beautiful  lady  in 
the  carriage,  I  will  cut  your  heart  out.  Do  you  under- 
stand? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  Sammy  and  touches  his  hat.  And 
as  he  drives  back  to  the  stable  the  horses  half  determine 
on  a  bolt,  for  they  feel  that  little  Sammy's  hold  on  their 
bits  is  very  weak,  nervous,  and  trembling. 

These  and  similar  Romeo  antics  of  the  Cuban  make 
Guernsey's  life  one  of  anxiety  at  Narragansett.  The 
season  is  drawing  to  its  close,  he  is  compelled  to  leave 
for  the  West  on  urgent  personal  business,  but  still  he 
lingers  by  the  sea.  "  I  can't  bear  to  leave  her  a  prey  to 
this  cursed  foreign  adventurer,"  he  thinks;  and  yet  he 
cannot  bring  himself  to  take  decisive  action,  reasoning  : 
"  If  I  fire  this  Cuban  out,  may  I  not  fire  myself  /«/" 

As  for  Evie  she  doesn't  wish  the  Senator  to  take 
decided  action  either,  not  until  Congress  is  in  session 
and  the  Gelatine  bill  has  been  passed,  and  she  pursues 
the  game  of  waiting  very  warily,  playing  her  fish  with 
the  ease  of  a  feminine  Isaac  Walton,  sometimes  draw- 
ing her  prey  toward  her  as  if  she  meant  to  land  him, 
next  letting  him  have  his  head  and  run  away  with  the 
line  and  sulk  under  the  shade  of  the  green  bushes  that 
line  love's  stream. 

But  strategy  is  brought  to  a  sudden  close  by  the 
action  of  the  fiery  Gonzalo. 

They  are  all  three  sitting  on  the  porch  of  the  cottage 
one  evening.  The  Senator  has  been  hinting  that  he 
has  to  go  West. 

"Pshaw!"  laughs  Evie,  "you've  been  saying  that 
for  a  week  or  two. " 

"  Yes,  it  has  seemed  to  me  you  have  been  going  for 
a  very  long  time,"  remarks  the  Cuban.  "  Day  by  day  I 
have  expected  to  have  the  honor  of  bidding  you  adios. " 

"Young  man,"  replies  Guernsey,  "that  needn't 
keep  you  here  in  Narragansett." 


HER   SENATOR.  173 

"  Santos,  I  know  what  you  are  staying  for!"  returns 
Gonzalo,  "and  it  is  not  surf  bathing."  Then  he 
breaks  out:  "But  I  don't  blame  you.  I  ea*  my 
heart  out  also !  There  is  a  so  cruel,  but  a  so  beautiful, 
woman,  who  demands  the  love  of  all  men — the  lady  of 
the  smiling  face  and  the  blue,  blue  eyes!  O,  Dios 
tnio  !  When  I  think,  I  would  have  been  happier  if  the 
Queen  of  Spain  had  eaten  my  heart!" 

"Why  don't  you  go  over  and  give  it  to  her 
Majesty?"  remarks  Guernsey.  "According  to  you 
she's  been  waiting  for  the  meal  for  a  long  time." 

' '  Por  Dios  !  But  not  till  I  have  spoken  once  more. 
I  have  tried  the  language  of  the  eyes,  but  she  will  not 
understand.  If  you  were  like  me,  a  man  of  grand 
sentiment,  not  the  hard-headed  Americano  that  you 
are,  Seftor,  you  would  speak  also.  Some  day  I  will 
demand  which  of  us  !  Some  day  I  will  say,  '  If  you  go 
riding  with  him,  I  ride  with  you  no  more.'  " 

"Will  you  give  me  a  drive  in  your  pony  phaeton  to- 
morrow, Mrs.  Montressor  ?  "  remarks  the  Senator  sud- 
denly— almost  desperately. 

"With  pleasure!"  replies  Evie,  then  bursts  into 
a  subdued  snicker,  for,  with  a  groan  of  anguish,  Gon- 
zalo has  suddenly  sprung  to  his  feet,  looked  at  her 
with  wild  eyes,  and  muttering,  "  You  stab  me  to  the 
heart  ! "  rushed  down  the  path,  thrown  open  the  gate, 
and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  his  hotel. 

"I'll  call  for  you  to-morrow  afternoon  early,"  says 
the  Senator,  a  lump  in  his  throat,  for  he  fears  the 
Rubicon  has  been  passed.  Then  he  adds  ardently: 
"You'll — you'll  give  me  a  long  drive,  won't  you? 
I'm — I'm  going  away  very,  very  soon." 

' '  Will  from  three  to  six  be  enough  for  you  ? "  remarks 
Mrs.  Montressor,  a  little  nervously,  for  she  fears  the 
ride  as  well  as  the  Senator. 

"Yes,"  he  replies,  then  mutters:  "You  are  very 


174  HER   SENATOR. 

good,"  and  suddenly  the  fair  wrist  feels  masculine 
mustache  upon  it,  as  he  goes  away,  leaving  Evie 
anxious  and  agitated. 

During  the  night  she  thinks  the  matter  over. 
" What  does  he  mean  to  say  to  me?  Does  he — ?" 
she  cries,  then  murmurs  faintly:  "  Does  he  mean —  ? 
Pshaw!  I  can  prevent  his  speaking  until  after  the  bill !" 
Then  jeers  herself:  "  Is  this  your  firmness,  is  this  your 
resolve,  you  who  said  you  would  be  his  Cleopatra  ?  " 
A  moment  after  she  mutters :  "  I — I  will  make  him  talk 
of  that  ineffable  villain,  his  father.  When  he  gets  to 
prattling  of  the  good  deeds  of  that  man  who  robbed  me 
of  my  sister  it  always  makes  me  hate  him.  Then  I  can 
play  my  game  beautifully — superbly,  as  Aspasia  flaunted 
it  with  Pericles." 

And  the  next  day  she  does  play  her  game  beautifully 
— superbly. 

When  Mr.  Guernsey  strolls  up  to  the  cottage  on  that 
bright  September  afternoon,  he  sees  her  pony  phaaeton 
standing  in  front  of  it.  At  the  horses'  heads  is  the 
natty  little  groom  who  has  for  the  last  month  essayed 
the  part  of  Evie's  chaperon  on  several  tete-&-t$te 
drives  with  the  Senator. 

Looking  on  him  the  statesman  cogitates  grimly: 
"Wouldn't  I  like  to  leave  you  behind  ? " 

A  moment  after  the  sight  of  his  charmer,  as  she  comes 
out  upon  her  veranda  to  meet  him,  drives  all  else  from 
his  thoughts ;  and  Evie  is  worthy  of  his  full  considera- 
tion, for  this  day  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  charm. 

"I  will  at  least  leave  a  recollection  in  his  heart," 
she  has  thought,  and  her  toilet  is  one  to  dream  of — to 
swear  by.  White,  her  favorite  color,  robes  her  from 
her  marble  neck  to  her  dainty  feet,  save  at  the  waist 
and  bosom;  the  first  being  surrounded  by  a  broad 
sheeny  scarf  of  daintiest  pink,  the  second  adorned 
with  fresh,  dewy  blush  roses, 


HER  SENATOR.  175 

Besides,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  color  in  her  cheeks 
as  the  Senator,  possessing  himself  of  her  hand,  whispers : 
"  I  must  take  care  of  you — you're  very  thoughtless." 

"Why?" 

"  You're  going  out  for  a  drive  in  slippers!  Suppose 
we  get  a  fog?  Since  you  won't  take  care  of  yourself, 
I  will  look  after  you.  Trip  up-stairs  again  and  put 
on  boots. " 

"  Pshaw !  these  slippers  match  my  costume ;  besides, 
I  didn't  suppose  you  would  look  at  them,"  she  demurs 
archly. 

"  Not  look  at  those  little  feet  ?  I  have  an  eye  for 
beauty,  madame,"  he  laughs.  Then  affecting  stern- 
ness, he  commands,  "Trot  up-stairs,  Miss!  Skip! 
Fly  !  " 

Here  Evie  astonishes  him  by  flying,  for  she  generally 
has  had  her  own  dainty  way. 

Two  minutes  after  she  comes  back  and  remarks 
demurely  :  "  How  does  this  suit  you  ?  "  as  she  coquet- 
tishly  pokes  out  an  exquisite  foot  and  dainty  ankle 
hosed  and  booted  in  white  to  perfection,  then  looks 
into  his  face  with  great  big  eyes  and  murmurs  : 
"Tyrant  !  "  a  word  that  always  goes  to  the  masculine 
heart,  for  it  indicates  dominion  that  they  love. 

And  he,  looking  down  at  her,  thinks:  "  The  darling  ! 
If  she  obeys  me  she  must " 

He  does  not  complete  the  thought,  its  rapture 
chokes  him. 

Two  minutes  after  they  are  seated  in  the  carriage, 
the  little  groom  jumping  on  to  the  rumble  behind,  as 
Evie  asks,  "Where?" 

"  How  would  Worden's  Pond  suit  you  ? " 

"  First  rate,  if  the  ponies  don't  object." 

So  Evie  whips  up  her  horses,  and  they  are 
soon  flying  along  the  Wakefield  road,  which,  like  most 
other  Narragansett  drives,  is  one  of  the  best  upojr* 


176  HER   SENATOR. 

earth,  especially  after  a  slight  shower,  which  makes  its 
gravel  and  sand  a  perfect  roadbed. 

Thus  they  journey  on  through  Wakefield,  leaving 
pretty  Peacedale  to  their  right,  and  a  few  minutes 
after,  turning  from  the  direct  road  to  Matunac,  pass 
along  a  narrow  and  rather  sandy  country  lane  between 
green  hedges  and  copses,  then  on  through  grassy  fields, 
till  at  length  they  reach  a  point  giving  them  glance  of 
beautiful  Worden's  Pond,  the  biggest  lake  near  Narra- 
gansett,  and  one  that  compares  in  beauty  of  scenery 
and  exquisite  shadow  effects  even  with  the  clear,  cold 
meres  of  the  Berkshires. 

Here  Evie  checks  the  horses,  and  as  they  look  upon 
the  view  Guernsey  remarks:  "  Do  you  know  I  once 
thought  of  giving  a  picnic  in  your  honor  here?  But 
you  ran  away  to  New  York,  so  I  gave  up  the  affair. 
I  had  already  selected  the  ground.  Would  you  like  to 
walk  down  and  see  it  ?  It's  a  spot  that's  a  hummer 
for  romance." 

He  says  this  last  appealingly,  but  with  determination. 

"  Yes! "  murmurs  Evelyn,  growing  pale  for  a  minute, 
then  blushing  to  her  eyes,  for  she  knows  the  time 
has  come. 

At  her  word,  he  assists  her  from  the  carriage,  and, 
pulling  down  some  bars  for  her,  they  enter  a  green  field. 
A  cow  or  two  grazing  within  it  look  curiously  at  them, 
wondering  why  these  visitors  are  here,  for  it  is  a  lonely 
yet  beautiful  spot. 

Two  hundred  yards  farther  on,  they  come  to  a  stone 
fence  that  separates  them  from  the  wooded  paddock 
leading  down  to  the  lake.  The  gate  of  this  is  locked 

"  Do  you  mind  a  little  climb  ?  "  he  whispers. 

"Not — not  very  much,"  falters  the  lady,  looking 
with  anxiety  at  her  imported  toilet. 

"  I — I  won't  ruffle  a  feather  in  it,"  remarks  Guern- 
sey, confidently. 


HER  SENATOR.  177 

The  next  moment  he  astonishes  her,  for  with  the 
agility  of  the  plains  he  springs  upon  the  stone  wall, 
which  is  not  a  very  high  one,  and  stooping  down  lifts 
her  up  and  swings  her  over  with  the  ease  and  precision 
of  iron  muscle  and  well-trained  biceps. 

"I — I  didn't  know  you  were  so  strong,"  she  mur- 
murs, looking  at  him,  a  strange  admiration  in  her  eyes. 

"You  see  out  West  a  man  leads  a  pretty  rough-and- 
tumble  life  and  has  to  know  how  to  handle  himself,"  he 
answers;  then  chuckles,  "besides,  I  don't  believe  you 
weigh  over  half  a  ton." 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  says,  laughingly.  "  A  hundred 
and  forty-five  pounds  isn't  half  a  ton." 

Then  together  they  stroll  down  to  the  shores  of 
Worden's  Pond;  not  quite  to  its  edge,  however,  for 
the  ground  is  slightly  swampy. 

Sitting  down  under  a  tree  they  gaze  out  over  its 
surface  that  reflects  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  in  the 
distance,  and  nearer  to  them  is  ornamented  by  masses 
of  pond  lilies,  whose  summer  flowers  have  long  since 
died,  but  whose  green  leaves  look  cool  and  refreshing 
as  they  float  upon  the  water.  This  they  both  gaze  at, 
until  silence  becomes  impressive. 

Then  the  Senator,  who  has  apparently  something 
on  his  mind,  says  suddenly:  "  You  like  the  view  ?" 

"Oh,  very  much!  "  she  murmurs,  enthusiastically. 

"I  am  glad  you  do,  but  that  isn't  why  I  brought 
you  here." 

"  No  ?  "  And  blue  eyes  open  in  pretense  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"  No!  I  wanted  to  be  away  from  the  long  ears  of 
your  bottle  green  groom."  Then  he  goes  on  very 
earnestly,  almost  a  tremble  in  his  strong  voice:  "I 
leave  for  the  West  this  evening.  I  have  to  take  my 
sister,  who  has  returned  from  Europe,  back  to  Silver- 
opolis,  and  I  have  a  few  things  to  tell  you. " 


178  HER   SENATOR. 

"What — what  are  they?"  queries  the  lady,  tapping 
her  pretty  white  boot  with  the  end  of  her  parasol. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  months.  I  am  compelled  to 
put  my  business  interests  in  such  shape  that  I  can 
leave  them,  devoting  my  whole  time  to  my  senatorial 
duties  during  the  session  of  Congress,  and,  when  I 
come  back,  I  want  to  find  you  just  the  same  girl  as 
when  I  leave  you.  Will  you  promise  that  ?" 

He  is  looking  at  her,  so  full  of  admiration,  so  full 
perhaps  of  passion,  that  her  eyes  droop  under  his  gaze, 
and  her  face  for  a  moment  grows  very  pale,  then  sud- 
denly blushing  as  a  rose.  She  does  not  answer  him  ; 
she  merely  taps  her  boot  with  the  ferrule  of  her 
parasol. 

"You  see,"  he  goes  on,  "wild  mustangs  couldn't 
drive  me  from  you,  but  I  have  a  duty.  I  have  to  settle 
up  the  estate  of  my  father — who  was  the  most  noble  and 
generous  man  the  earth  has  covered. "  He  sighs  here. 
•'  He  left  my  sister  half  of  his  estate." 

"That  was  whole-hearted  in  him,  exceedingly,  '  re- 
marks the  lady,  sarcastically. 

"It was,  for  she  has  no  claim  of  blood  upon  him. 
She  is  simply  my  adopted  sister,  but  I  love  her,  and 
want  to  do  something  more  than  my  duty  in  seeing  that 
her  property  comes  to  her  in  a  little  better  shape  and 
a  little  more  gilt-edged  than  even  my  father  expected." 

' '  What  a  good  man  your  father  must  have  been?" 
exclaims  Evelyn,  and  her  eyes  blaze  up,  indignation  in 
them.  Then,  not  trusting  herself,  she  rises  hastily  and 
walks  away. 

"Why,  Great  Scott!  you  are  not  jealous  of — of  my 
sister!  "  cries  Guernsey,  running  after  her. 

"Jealous?  I!  What  right  have  I  to  be  jealous?" 
Here  she  forces  herself  to  calmness  and  turning  to  him 
says:  "  J  11  give  you  my  answer  to  your  rather  curious 
proposition  this  evening,  before  you  go. " 


HER   SENATOR.  179 

"You  are  not  mad  ?"  falters  Guernsey. 

"  Mad  ?  Oh,  no,"  and  Evie  walks  ahead  of  him,  for 
the  mention  of  his  father  has  set  her  blood  boiling 
and  she  thinks:  "If  I  speak  to  him  now  I  shall 
tell  him  what  an  accursed  scoundrel  his  sainted  parent 
was,  and  that  will  spoil  my  plan  for  his  destruction  and 
my  triumph.  He  must  be  bad.  He  has  his  father's  blood. 
No  man  could  call  such  a  man  as  his  father  good  and 
not  be  a  villain  himself,  a  hypocrite  also." 

Therefore  she  speeds  ahead  of  him,  careless  of  his 
warning,  "Look  out,  Sis,  you'll  splash  those  nice  white 
shoes  in  the  bog!" 

But  this  recklessness,  perchance,  only  makes  her 
more  alluring,  for  she  is  a  very  dazzling  sight  as  she 
runs  along  ahead  of  the  Western  senator,  holding  up 
dainty  white  skirts  from  beneath  which  flash  out  the 
two  prettiest  feet  and  ankles  in  Narragansett  in  ball- 
room hosiery  and  summer  flirtation  boots. 

Finally  the  stone  wall  stops  her  and  she  turns  about, 
a  mass  of  laughter,  blushes,  and  confusion.  Ah !  what 
an  actress  she  is! 

Here  Guernsey,  overtaking  her,  says:  "You  little 
runaway  colt  you,  do  you  know  you're  as  pretty  as — 
and  tantalizing  as — " 

"As  what?" 

"As  yourself."  With  this  the  athlete  of  the  plains 
springs  on  the  stone  fence  and  swings  her  over  again, 
giving  her  waist  a  squeeze  that  makes  her  utter  a  faint 
shriek  of  bashful  astonishment;  for  Guernsey  had 
never  permitted  himself  such  liberty  before,  but  some- 
how he  has  grown  bolder  now. 

"Have  another  race  for  the  next  fence  ?"  cries  Evie 
laughingly,  for  she  has  an  idea  that  perchance  this 
gentleman  may  heap  Ossa  on  Pelion  and  supplement 
the  squeeze  with  a  kiss.  Therefore,  she  dashes  with 
fairy  feet  towards  the  road  upon  which  stands  her 


180  HEJR.    SENATOR. 

argus-eyed  little  groom,  to  whose  protection  she  is 
flying,  pursued  by  the  statesman,  who  gazes  admir- 
ingly, as  he  runs,  upon  this  fair-haired,  blue-eyed 
Atalanta. 

Then  they  drive  very  comfortably  back  to  Nar- 
ragansett,  and  though  Mr.  Guernsey  would  broach  the 
subject  once  more,  Evie  puts  him  aside  always  with 
these  words:  "Wait  until  you  bid  me  good-bye  this 
evening." 

At  the  gate  she  says:  "  Don't  come  in — give  me  an 
hour  or  two  to  think.  You  leave  at  half-past  eight  to- 
night. Come  to  me  at  eight  o'clock ;  then  I  will  give 
you  one-quarter  of  an  hour.  Until  then,  au  revoir." 

"So  long!"  remarks  Guernsey,  and  goes  away;  but 
at  Sherry's  Casino,  when  they  place  the  finest  of  din- 
ners before  him  he  has  no  appetite.  He  drinks,  how- 
ever, a  pint  of  champagne,  which  is  something  unusual 
for  a  senator  from  a  prohibition  State. 

As  for  the  lady,  she  does  think !  She  has  been 
astonished  at  Guernsey's  reference  to  his  sister  by 
adoption,  but  she  is  not  jealous  of  her.  She  mutters 
sneeringly  to  herself:  "Jealous  of  him!  Jealousy 
means  love,  and  I  have  only  hate — yes,  that  's  what  I 
do,  /  hate  him  !  When  he  talks  of  his  good  father  and 
this  adopted  sister,  I  cry,  '  Where  is  my  sister  ? '  "  A 
moment  after  she  jeers.  "  We  have  both  been  going  it 
blind  as  to  family!  " 

And  this  is  true;  Mrs.  Montressor  has  not  dared 
to  ask  about  the  Senator's  domestic  ties,  lest  her  ques- 
tions may  provoke  his  queries,  for  she  divines  that 
Claude,  the  ex-husband,  would  be  an  unpleasant  revela- 
tion to  him. 

Then  suddenly  she  falters:  "What  does  he  mean 
to  ask  me,  when  he  comes  back  from  the  West?"  and 
growing  pale,  trembles  and  blushes. 

But  that  evening  she  is  ready  with  her  answer. 


HER  SENATOR.  l8l 

They  are  alone  together,  for  Senora  de  Oriva  is 
busied  with  household  duties.  Evelyn,  sitting  in  the 
shadow  of  the  porch,  whispers  to  him:  "I  will  do 
what  you  wish.  Listen  to  me.  I  shall  go  to  a  retired 
country  place  in  Vermont.  I  need  rest  after  the  trou- 
bles of  a  summer  campaign  and  the  anxieties  of  a  de- 
clining fortune.  In  that  view  it  will  suit  me  to  econo- 
mize, for  my  Gelatine  stock  is — is  going  down."  This 
last  very  pathetically.  Then  she  continues:  "  I  shall 
spend  the  winter  in  Washington.  If  you  call  upon  me 
there,  you  will  find  me  just  the  same  girl  as  you  left 
behind  you,  save  that  I  shall  be  two  months  older 
and  two  months  less  attractive." 

" Thank  God!  "  mutters  the  Senator. 

"  What,  for  being  two  months  older  and  two  months 
less  attractive  ?  " 

"No,  no;  thank  God,  I  shall  find  you  just  the  same 
little  girl. " 

And  now  Evelyn  plays  a  trump  card. 

"Remember,  after  this,"  she  falters,  blushingly,  "  I 
— I  shall  have  a  right  to  be  jealous. " 

"  And  so  have  I,"  he  answers  sharply,  then  goes  on 
severely:  "  How  about  that  cussed  Cuban?" 

"Oh,  I  have  arranged  for  him.  He  has  received  a 
telegram  and  gone  to  boil  gelatine  in  one  of  Mr.  Stein- 
bergh's  great  factories." 

"  And  Mr.  Steinbergh?"     This  is  hitting  very  close. 

"What  of  him?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  as  much  afraid  of  the  Cuban  as  I  am 
of  Mr.  Steinbergh." 

"  Pooh !  that  is  nothing  That  gentleman  has  merely 
acted  in  a  fiduciary  capacity  for  me  in  my  investments. 
Besides,  if  you  wish,  I  will  not  see  Mr.  Steinbergh 
again  until  you  return. " 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  replies  the  Westerner.  Then 
be  astonishes  her,  this  man  who  has  been  at  times  so 


282  HER   SENATOR. 

diffident,  for  he  steps  to  her  and  taking  audacious  ciasp 
of  her  white  arm,  leads  her  into  the  parlor.  A  subdued 
light  from  a  lamp  partly  illuminates  the  room.  They 
are  alone. 

"  Stand  in  front  of  me!  "  he  commands. 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  Evie  playfully,  courtesying  to  him. 

Then  comes  the  sensation !  He  takes  her  beautiful 
face  between  his  firm  hands,  and  bending  down  makes 
her  entrancing  lips  his  own  in  the  strong  kiss  of  domi- 
nant manhood;  then  mutters  huskily  "I  put  this  kiss  on 
your  lips  when  I  go  away.  Let  me  have  the  same  one 
back  when  I  return ! " 

"  O-o-o-h !  "  falters  the  lady,  and  sinks  down  a  beauti- 
ful mass  of  exquisite  blushes  and  bashful  confusion  as 
Guernsey,  striding  down  the  path,  mutters  to  himself: 
"I'm  boss  of  that  cottage!"  then  sighs:  "Great 
Scott!  Two  months — I  shan't  see  her  for  two 
months!  " 

Ten  minutes  after  he  gets  a  sensation  himself!  He 
is  seated  by  the  open  car  window  just  as  the  engine  is 
ready  to  draw  him  away  from  Narragansett.  Even  as 
the  train  starts,  through  the  open  window  into  his  lap 
is  flung  a  bunch  of  sweet  smelling  posies,  and  he  hears 
Evie's  voice  say  coquettishly:  "Good-bye,  Mr.  Ty- 
rant!" 

Then  Guernsey,  as  he  rides  away  from  her  feels 
happier  than  if  he  was  sure  of  being  the  dark  horse 
for  the  Presidential  nomination. 


HER    SENATOR.  183 


BOOK   III. 

THE   CAMPAIGN   IN   WASHINGTON. 

CHAPTER  xv. 

MRS.  MONTRESSOR'S  DINNER  PARTY. 

IT  is  the  early  winter. 

Congress  has  been  talking  for  a  month !  Washing- 
ton is  seething  under  the  revenue  and  tariff  bill! 

The  corridors  of  the  great  hotels  are  full  of  it,  as  it 
is  discussed  by  manufacturers  and  merchants  whom  it 
may  make  rich  or  poor  in  its  changing  schedules  of 
duties. 

The  Capitol  is  crowded;  the  Upper  and  Lower 
Houses  are  full  of  legislators,  each  intent  upon  getting 
his  finger  in  the  financial  pie.  The  committee  rooms  of 
the  Senate  and  the  House  are  besieged  by  seekers 
after  office,  pension  agents  pressing  special  claims, 
representatives  of  the  great  iron  firms  after  govern- 
ment contracts  and  appropriations,  and  the  lobbies  of 
the  magnificent  building  are  thronged  by  politicians 
from  everywhere,  each  for  himself,  first,  last  and  for- 
ever; their  parties  second,  their  country  nowhere  in 
the  race  for  wealth  and  preferment,  in  which  states- 
manship is  forgotten,  and  even  truth,  justice,  and  per- 
sonal honor  are  as  naught  to  the  almighty  dollar, 
which  reigns  supreme  b^^^ath  the  great  dome  from 


I&4  HER  SENATOR. 

which  the  statue  of  Freedom  gazes  on  the  struggle  for 
power  and  pelf. 

From  out  this  melange  of  things  inimical  to  honest 
legislation,  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey,  fresh 
from  his  oath  of  office,  comes  striding  up  Connecticut 
avenue,  and  is  ushered  by  a  darkey  page  into  Mrs. 
Montressor's  pretty  apartment  in  Washington. 

This  is  charmingly  located,  near  enough  to  the 
Dupont  circle  to  be  fashionable  and  not  too  far  from 
the  principal  hotels  to  be  easily  accessible  to  sojourners 
in  the  national  capital. 

As  the  servitor  takes  his  card  to  the  mistress  of  the 
domicile,  Mr.  Guernsey  looks  about  and  murmurs  to 
himself:  "By  Ginger,  if  my  eyes  see  straight,  this  is 
luxury." 

And  his  eyes  do  see  very  straight;  for  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor's flat  is  not  only  spacious,  but  elegant  in  its  fit- 
tings, luxurious  in  its  furniture  and  charming  in  its 
bric-a-brac  and  pictures. 

The  very  handsome  drawing-room,  in  which  the  gen- 
tleman from  the  West  stands,  opens  by  folding  doors 
into  a  dining-room  just  large  enough  for  a  cozy  dinner 
party.  Out  of  the  parlor  on  the  other  side,  its  entrance 
half  hid  by  graceful  satin  draperies,  is  the  pretty  little 
room  Evie  calls  her  boudoir,  which  communicates  di- 
rectly with  her  own  private  apartment.  All  these  open 
upon  a  very  handsome  and  spacious  hallway,  and  are 
charmingly  lighted  by  windows  looking  out  upon  one 
of  the  great  avenues  of  Washington,  which  is  now  in 
the  height  of  its  political  season,  though  its  social  one 
is  hardly  so  far  advanced. 

Looking  at  its  satin  draperies,  its  gilded  furniture, 
its  Sevres,  bric-a-brac,  and  the  pretty  paintings  on 
its  walls,  some  of  them  apparently  signed  by  well- 
known  artists — and  all  of  them  forgeries — Mr.  Guern- 
sey emits  a  prolonged  whistle,  and,  turning  his 


HER  SENATOR.  185 

in  the  direction  of  a  bronze  bust  of  Danie!  Webster 
that  gazes  at  him  from  its  oynx  pedestal,  he  remarks 
confidentially  to  the  dead  statesman's  image:  "This 
must  cost  money,  Dan ! " 

He  is  correct  in  this  also,  for  Evie  has  determined, 
upon  this  Washington  campaign,  that  she  will  play  her 
hand  boldly,  grandly! — and  has  squandered  the  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  made  for  her  in  stocks  with  the  prodi- 
gality of  a  gamester  hazarding  all  on  a  last  grand  coup  ! 
What  matters  it  if  the  wine  bill  is  high,  if  she  wins, 
the  table  is  heaped  with  gold. 

With  this  idea  she  has  set  up  a  very  smart  little 
equipage  with  stylish  driver,  but  does  not  sport  a  footman 
on  her  brougham,  judging  it  would  make  her  too  con- 
spicuous in  the  national  capital,  where  this  convenient 
luxury  is  not  so  common  as  in  sumptuous  New  York. 

Even  as  the  Senator  inspects  the  cage  of  this  dainty 
bird,  he  hears  a  little  cry,  he  thinks  of  joy,  and  a  mo- 
ment after  Evie's  radiant  face  is  put  through  the  por- 
tie>es  of  her  boudoir,  and  she  cries  to  him :  ' '  Wanderer, 
come  in! " 

The  next  second  Guernsey  is  in  her  sanctum,  a:i  ex- 
quisite little  place  with  a  general  blue  effect  in  its  dra- 
peries and  furniture,  brightened  by  a  ceiling  decorated 
with  arch  Cupids  and  love-sick  goddesses,  who  seem 
to  be  engaged  in  a  flowery  dance. 

' '  You  see,  I  don't  make  company  of  you, "  she  whispers 
demurely,  glancing  at  a  teagown  which  becomes  her 
very  prettily. 

"Thank  God  you  don't!"  he  mutters,  looking  at 
her,  then  steps  to  her,  and  asks,  almost  solemnly: 
"Where's  the  kiss  I  gave  you  to  keep  for  me  ?" 

But,  with  airy  lightness,  she  has  flown  to  refuge  be- 
hind a  chair,  and,  gazing  at  him  from  its  satin 
upholstery,  murmurs  riantly:  "I  lost  it;  it  isn't 
here,"  touching  her  fair  lips, 


186  HER    SENATOR. 

"Great  Goliah!  Not  there?"  he  falters  through 
trembling  lips,  and  his  strong  face  twitches;  but,  be- 
fore he  suffers  too  much,  she  laughs:  "  Flora  stole  it, 
up  in  Vermont." 

"Flora?  She  doesn't  count!"  cries  the  Senator. 
"You  little  minx,  how  dare  you  joke  with  my 
feelings  ?" 

A  wave  of  joyous  relief  flies  over  him,  and,  before 
his  temptress  can  dodge,  he  has  sprung  to  her  side, 
and,  with  vigorous  ardor  and  great  empressemcnt,  taken 
her  pretty  face  in  his  hands,  looked  into  her  blue  eyes, 
which  answer  him  frankly,  and  taken  back  from  the 
sweet,  red  lips  the  kiss  he  had  placed  upon  them  in 
Narragansett.  This  he  does  with  a  solemnity  that 
would  make  Evie  laugh,  did  not  nervousness  overcome 
risibility;  his  kiss  was  so  strong,  his  arms  so  masterful. 

Then  she  gives  an  affrighted  "  Oh,  Heavens  !  "  for 
Doc.  Guernsey  drops  into  a  convenient  chair,  and  with 
one  athletic  whisk  Evelyn  suddenly  finds  herself  seated 
like  a  school  girl  on  his  knee,  while  he  is  saying: 
"Now,  sissy,  tell  me  all  about  it.  What  have  you 
done  since  I've  been  away  ?  " 

But  blushing  astonishment  and  bashful  confusion 
overcome  her.  She  hides  her  face  from  his  earnest 
eyes,  pouts  deliciously,  and  makes  one  or  two  ineffec- 
tual struggles  to  leave  her  childish  position.  But  his 
arm  about  her  waist  is  too  strong  and  he  stays  her  by 
remarking  dominantly,  even  severely:  "  Stay  quiet !  " 

Finding  struggles  unavailing,  Mrs.  Montressor  turns 
to  her  captor,  and  opening  her  blue  eyes,  murmurs: 
"How  dare  you  catechise  me?  I  should  catechise 
you.  Three  months  away  and  not  a  line,  a  word,  a 
telegram. ' 

"No,  I  was  busy.  You  see  I  was  worried.  I  had  a 
troublesome  lawsuit  on  my  hands  about  some  land  my 
noble  father  left  to  The  Orphans'  home  in  Silveropolis 


HER   SENATOR.  187 

— what  makes  you  so  savage  ? "  he  adds  suddenly,  for 
at  the  mention  of  his  father  Evelyn  has  become  rest- 
ive again  and  her  face  angry  and  excited. 

"  You — you  never  sent  me  a  word,"  pouts  the  lady, 
finding  easy  and  complimentary  excuse  for  temper. 

Thereupon  Mr.  Guernsey  gives  her  some  of  the 
many  excuses  of  men  who  hate  to  write,  but  would  like 
to  be  written  to.  Then  he  adds  reproachfully:  "  Why 
didn't  you  send  me  a  line  ?  You  had  my  address,  I 
didn't  have  yours.  Were  you  in  Vermont  ?  " 

"Yes,  near  Brattleboro.  I — I  was  saving  up  so  I 
could  come  here  for  the  winter." 

"Any  visitors  ?" 

"Flora." 

"  Any  gentlemen  visitors  ?  That  cursed  Hidalgo, 
for  instance  ? " 

"None  whatever,  though  I  wrote  Mr.  Steinbergh." 

"Aha!" 

"Only  once,  about  my  stocks  that  are  still  going 
down — down,"  she  murmurs,  plaintively  ;  then  goes 
on  more  vivaciously:  "And  now,  since  I  have  said  my 
catechism  like  a  good  girl,  permit  me  to  escape. 
Please — Pythagoras  will  see  you." 

"  Pythagoras  ?    Who  in  the  deuce  is  he  ?" 

"My  crispy- haired  darkey  page.  Besides,  if  my 
butler  came  in  he  perhaps  wouldn't  understand  that 
you  are  '  papa  Guernsey.'  " 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  am  ' papa  Guernsey,'  "  mutters  the 
Senator,  making  awry  face.  Then  he  says:  "You'd 
better  call  me  Jim." 

' '  En  tete-a-tete, "  murmurs  the  lady,  archly.  Then  she 
stammers,  blushingly:  "You — you  can  call  me  Evie 
when  we're  alone.  Don't  forget — only  when  we're 
alone." 

"All  right,  sissy, " remarks  the  Solon,  complacently. 
Then  he  says,  rapture  in  his  voice:  "Why  you  look 


1 88  HER  SENATOR. 

just  as  young  as  a  schoolgirl.  A  naughty  child  who 
is  taken  on  the  knee  to  be  lectured. " 

"No  doubt,  I  feel  rebellious,"  laughs  Evie.  "Yes, 
and  savage,  too.  Not  one  little  letter!  Bear — 
wicked,  grizzly  bear — I  will  pull  your  whiskers!" 
And  she  seizes,  in  two  soft  white  hands,  Guernsey's 
long  mustache  and  gives  it  some  infantile  but  vivacious 
tugs,  as  she  kicks  her  two  pretty  little  pink  slippers 
about,  that  frisk  under  the  laces  of  her  teagown,  giving 
delicious  glimpses  of  openwork  hosiery,  and  altogether 
making  a  very  charming  portrayal  of  innocent,  vigor- 
ous, romping,  naughty,  spoilt  little  girlhood. 

Upon  this  the  Senator  gazes  admiringly,  guffawing: 
"Cute  baby!  Was  it  savage  with  its  chick-a-biddy? 
It  shall  have  the  kiss  of  peace." 

But  Evie  suddenly  dodging  the  kiss  of  peace,  springs 
up  crying,  with  clapping  hands:  "I  forgot!  You  must 
go  away!  My  dinner  party!  My  dinner  party!  " 

"Dinner  paity  ?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  now  state  that  it  is  in  your  honor.  I 
have  made  quite  a  hit  here  socially.  We're  in  the 
swim,"  she  laughs,  then  goes  on  more  quietly:  "  Con- 
gress has  been  in  session  a  month  and  you  have  been 
away.  I  was  not  surprised  at  your  forgetting  me,  but 
I  was  astonished  at  your  neglecting  the  interests  of  your 
country,  Mr.  Senator!"  This  last  with  attempted  sever- 
ity. 

"Oh,  the  Senate  hasn't  done  anything  while  I  have 
been  out  of  my  seat." 

"  No, "  she  replies,  "that's  the  trouble.  The  country 
is  crying  out  for  it  to  do  something,  but  it  only  talks, 
talks,  TALKS!  You  know,  I'm  going  to  be  your  polit- 
ical mentor;  I'm  going  to  teach  you  what  the  country 
wishes  you  to  do,  then  you'll  do  it  like  a  good  boy, 
won't  you,  Jimmie  ?" 

This    'Jimmie'   is   said  so   easily,  that  Guernsey 


HER  SENATOR.  189 

astutely  reasons :  ' '  Goliath !  she  must  have  been  think- 
ing of  me  by  that  name  for  a  good  while ! "  And  it 
gives  him  such  a  thrill  of  rapture,  that  instead  of  telling 
her,  as  he  might  have  done,  that  he  would  shape  his 
own  political  course,  he  says  brightly:  "We'll  see 
about  that,  miss,"  then  laughs.  "  I  shall  take  counsel 
with  our  great  Daniel — I  see  you've  got  him  here  to 
remind  me  of  my  duties." 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  says  airily,  "make  Dan'l  your 
mentor — I  own  Dan'l!" 

This  remark  is  scarcely  a  happy  one.  It  suggests 
property  rights  in  the  present  senator  as  well  as  the  dead 
one.  Noting  this  in  Guernsey's  face,  Evie  breaks  in 
suddenly: 

"Now  for  my  dinner  party.  Three  of  your  con- 
frlrcs  of  the  upper  House  are  to  be  present — Mr. 
Raleigh,  Mr.  Chippie,  and  Mr.  Bostwick. " 

"  Great  Scott!  is  the  aristocratic  Chippie  coming  ?" 
murmurs  Guernsey,  astonished  and  perchance  some- 
what impressed. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  drops  in  often,  but  Mrs.  Chippie  hasn't 
called  yet;  that  will  come  in  time.  Besides,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Sloville,  of  the  lower  House,  Madame  de 
Montpensier  and  I  will  invite  Georgie  Parsons,  the 
brightest  girl  in  Washington,  for  you.  She  will  drop 
in  and  accommodate  me.  She's  always  ready  for 
a  dinner.  Besides,  there's  two  or  three  more  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies.  How  convenient  it  is  I  only  invited 
fourteen!  Now  I  can  make  room  for  two  more  at  my 
table.  This  will  be  delightful.  You'll  take  it  as  your 
informal  welcome  to  Washington,  won't  you,  J — Jim  ? 
But  I  must  drive  you  away.  I  have  to  dress.  Where 
are  you  stopping  ? " 

"At  Chamberlin's,"  replies  the  Senator. 

"Very  well,  then;  run  away,  Jimmie,  run  away." 

"  If  you  call  me  Jimmie,  I'll  never  get  out  of  the 


1^0  HER   SENATOR. 

house,"  whispers  Guernsey.  "Besides,  I  don't  budge 
till  I  get  the  kiss  Flora  stole  from  me." 

This  he  obtains  after  a  vivacious  and  most  piquant 
skirmish,  and  departing,  thinks  as  he  strides  down 
Connecticut  Avenue :  "  Isn't  she  a  brick  ?  Never  pur- 
sued me  by  a  telegram,  never  bothered  me  by  a  letter, 
never  compelled  me  to  write  a  word  to  her,  and  hang 
me  if  she  isn't  just  a  little  prettier  and  just  a  little 
sweeter  than  when  I  left  her  at  Narragansett. " 

As  for  his  charmer,  she  gazes  after  her  senator  and 
tautters:  "You  villain!  You  are  just  as  bad  as  your 
vile  father.  Those  kisses  shall  cost  you  as  much  as — 
as  Cleopatra  charged  Antony. "  Then  suddenly  a  great 
wave  of  color  flies  over  her  face;  the  next  instant  she 
is  pale,  trembling,  frightened,  and  falters:  "  If  I  should 
ever  love  him!  Oh,  God,  I  pray  thee,  not  that\  not 
THAT! " 

For  Guernsey's  kisses  have  somehow  been  pleasant 
to  her,  and  the  Senator  has  a  fine  figure,  and  a  free, 
easy,  and  frank  affability  that  tends  to  popularity. 
Besides,  he  is  no  longer  bashful — another  element  in 
his  favor  with  capricious  womanhood. 

Notwithstanding  her  fears,  doubts,  and  perplexities, 
Evelyn  is  intensely  glad  at  the  Senator's  coming,  for  she 
has  been  frightened  at  the  prolonged  absence  of  the 
gentleman  she  fondly  thought  she  held  with  a  very 
tight  rein  and  jaw-breaking  Mexican  bit. 

This  evening,  as  young  Pythagoras,  with  bright  brass 
buttons  on  his  livery,  and  grinning  eyes  that  gleam 
under  the  gaslights,  ushers  the  guests  into  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor's  pretty  parlor,  there  is  no  brighter  or  more 
vivacious  lady  in  Washington  than  their  fair  hostess. 
For  Evelyn  is  dressed  d,  merveillc  in  the  creation  of  a 
New  York  dressmaker  which  rivals  imported  costume. 
In  it  she  looks  like,  a  picture  by  Watteau,  the  gown 
being  a  charming,  Frenchy,  shepherdess  affair,  though 


HER  SENATOR.  IQI 

it  is  evidently  intended  for  very  warm  weather,  giving 
exquisite  pneumonia  effects  as  to  ivory  shoulders, 
arms,  and  bust. 

Her  manner  and  beauty  are  American,  but  her  vivac- 
ity and  chic  are  French ;  sometimes  her  conversation 
also,  for  she  has  discovered  that  her  flowing  Parisian  is 
not  only  a  convenience  to  her  in  addressing  many  of  the 
foreigners  in  the  capital,  but  also  produces  considera- 
tion from  people  who  only  speak  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tongue — some  of  them  very  badly. 

One  of  the  party  is  Mr.  Raleigh,  who  has  been  in 
the  Senate  a  few  years,  and  of  whom  the  country  has 
reason  to  think  very  well. 

Another  is  the  Honorable  Blatherskite  Bostwick,  Sena- 
tor from  the  state  of  Miasma,  who  is  a  long-haired  crazy 
populist.  He  means  well — at  least  he  thinks  he  means 
well — but  he  is  so  opposed  to  anybody  being  pros- 
perous that  he  is  even  averse  to  giving  his  country 
a  chance  of  happiness.  Like  many  men  of  anarchistic 
proclivities  he  is  a  creature  of  fearful  passions,  amo- 
rous and  otherwise.  He  prates  of  virtue,  but  a  couple 
of  young  ladies  in  the  Department  offices  could  tell 
tales  about  him.  He  cries  out  that  all  men  are  equal, 
except  himself;  that  every  man  is  a  scoundrel,  except 
himself;  and  yet  he  loves  gold  so  well  that  he  is  a 
silver  man  for  purposes  of  reelection,  and  a  buyer  of 
Gelatine  stock  for  purposes  of  speculation,  though  he 
denounces  bankers  every  chance  he  gets  in  the  United 
States  Senate.  Yet  such  is  the  wildness  of  the  man  he 
does  not  know  he  is  a  hypocrite  and  believes  himself 
as  pure  a  statesman  as  ever  graced  the  senatorial  toga. 

In  contradistinction  to  him  is  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Chippie,  who  is  perfectly  aware  that  the  country  has 
reason  to  think  very  badly  of  him — as  it  does;  for  Chippie 
is  for  Chippie,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  Chippie's 
Opinion  of  the  relative  importance  of  things  political 


1Q2  HER  SENATOR. 

in  any  crisis  of  the  United  States  may  always  be  put 
like  this: 


Mr.  J.  Jefferson  Sloville,  a  member  of  the  lower  House, 
is  a  bustling  Congressman.  He  is  a  hard  worker  on 
committees,  and  having  plenty  of  money,  doesn't  care 
whether  he  is  reflected ;  a  kind  of  man  who  does  his 
duty  by  his  country  without  fear  or  favor.  This 
gentleman  is  accompanied  by  his  wife,  a  pleasant- 
looking  lady,  with  mathematical  manners  and  a  tinge 
of  common  sense  in  her  way  of  stating  a  proposition. 

Miss  Georgie  Parsons,  whose  mother  keeps  a  fashion- 
able boarding  house  on  F  street,  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sloville  live,  is  under  their  charge.  She  is  a  very 


HER   SENATOR.  193 

bright,  dashing  girl,  with  perchance  too  brilliant  a 
tongue  to  suit  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  company. 

Miss  Algeria  Tolstock  adds  literary  grace  to  the 
affair.  Though  very  well  gowned,  there  is  a  mas- 
culinity in  her  evening  dress  that  gives  hints  of  her 
being  a  new  woman.  She  is  a  corresponpent  for  sev- 
eral newspapers,  but  surreptitiously;  were  she  known 
as  a  dragon  of  the  press,  Senators  Chippie  and  Bost- 
wick  would  fly  from  her  presence  as  the  devil  would 
from  holy  water. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Merville  also  grace  the  draw- 
ing-room— at  least,  the  lady  does,  she  being  a  French- 
woman of  Parisian  manners  and  breeding.  As  for  De 
Merville  himself,  he  would  not  grace  anything,  being  an 
excited,  dapper,  flyaway  little  Frenchman,  who  has 
obtained  a  subordinate  post  at  the  French  Legation. 

Two  bright,  sparkling  American  girls  make  up  the 
balance  of  the  invited  ladies;  Miss  Essie  Stoddard, 
who  is  Northern  and  adores  the  army,  and  Miss  Kittie 
Mifflin,  who  is  Southern  and  in  love  with  the  navy. 
They  are  here  in  Washington  to  have  a  good  time,  and 
they  are  having  it — generally  leaving  their  mothers 
behind.  They  are  girls  who  go  to  every  social  affair, 
who  are  seen  at  ladies'  teas,  White  House  receptions 
and  wherever  they  can  get  in.  They  add  greatly  to 
the  charm  and  vivacity  of  life  in  the  American  capital 
and  no  man  would  would  keep  them  out,  though  per- 
chance a  good  many  of  the  ladies  would,  as  they  are 
apt  to  monopolize  dashing  officers  and  long  mus- 
tachioed Legation  attache's  at  "the  Army  and  Navy 
gennans  "  and  other  places  where  beauty  and  youth 
count  more  than  age  and  official  position. 

To  entertain  them  have  been  invited  Jack  Gorley, 
a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  who  is  great  at  the  dance, 
and  Monsieur  de  Giers  of  a  foreign  legation. 

Seuora  de  Oriva,  with  hawk's  eyes  and  punctilious 


I<)4  HER  SENATOR. 

Spanisn  etiquette,  completes  the  gathering,  which  is 
somewhat  conglomerate,  but  still  is  a  pretty  good  one 
as  Washington  goes ;  and  Mrs.  Montressor  has  done 
very  well  with  the  three  letters  of  introduction  that  Mr. 
Steinbergh  has  given  her  to  the  capital.  She  has  in- 
creased her  acquaintance,  and  has  been  seen  in  a  num- 
ber of  Washington  drawing-rooms,  though  she  has  not 
yet  been  asked  to  stand  behind  the  line  at  the  White 
House,  and  is  not  on  visiting  terms  with  the  Cabinet 
clique. 

The  usual  preliminary  babble  is  rising  from  these 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  Mr.  Chippie,  in  an  affable  way 
peculiar  to  this  great  man,  has  taken  under  his  wing, 
bright-tongued  Miss  Georgie  Parsons,  whose  pretty 
shoulders  he  likes  to  look  upon,  and  is  remarking  to 
her  oracularly,  rolling  his  eyes  up  to  the  bust  of  the 
the  great  statesman  whose  fixed,  immovable,  bronze 
expression  seems  to  dominate  the  room:  "  Humph! 
Daniel  Webster!  A  great  man  in  his  time,  but  hardly, 
my  dear  Miss  Parsons,  up  to  date." 

"Oh,  he  isn't  an  up-to-date  senator,"  giggles  Miss 
Georgie. 

"No.  Nowadays  we  senators  pay  our  bills."  This 
remark  is  made  in  severe  criticism  of  the  prodigal  and 
impecunious  defunct. 

"Yes,  nowadays,  you  senators  knowo/^r^to  get  the 
money  to  pay  them  with,"  whispers  Miss  Parsons;  at 
which  Chippie  grows  suddenly  red  and  confused  and 
turns  an  evil  eye  on  the  girl's  pretty  shoulders. 

But  just  here  Mr.  Guernsey  is  announced. 

As  the  young  senator  makes  his  appearance  a  sly 
gleam  flies  into  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Chippie,  who  is  a  wary 
old  bird  at  love  as  well  as  at  politics. 

"Guernsey  brings  with  him  the  sea  breezes  of  Nar- 
ragansett,"  he  whispers  significantly  into  his  hostess's 
pretty  ear  as  she  goes  forward  to  meet  the  new  arrival, 


HER  SENATOR  1 95 

A  minute  after  dinner  is  announced,  and  Mr.  Ral- 
eigh, the  senior  senator,  offering  his  arm  to  the  wife  of 
the  Congressman  leads  her  into  the  dining  room,  where 
a  feast  made  beautiful  by  floral  decorations,  brilliant 
china,  dazzling  cut  glass,  and  washed  down  by  gener- 
ous wines  awaits  them,  Evie  as  hostess  bringing  up 
the  rear  of  the  procession  on  Mr.  Chippie's  arm. 

Guernsey  has  fallen  into  pleasant  places,  having  as 
his  partner  vivacious  Miss  Parsons,  and  for  his  left- 
hand  neighbor  demure  little  Miss  Mifflin,  who  has  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  stalwart  Jack  Gorley.  Nearly  opposite 
them  sits  Algeria  Tolstock,  whose  dholletti  is  a  mas- 
culine one,  looking  more  like  a  Yale  boatman's  sweater 
than  anything  else.  Beside  her  is  seated  the  Honorable 
Blatherskite  Bostwick,  who  is  not  very  well  pleased  at 
his  location,  as  he  likes  pretty  girls,  and  has  upon  his 
other  hand  the  hawk-eyed  Spanish  duenna. 

Mr.  Sloville  is  taking  care  of  Madame  de  Merville, 
and  De  Giers,  the  attache,  is  trying  to  talk  French  to 
Essie  Stoddard,  who  pretends  to  understand  him,  but 
doesn't. 

However,  they  are  all  doing  their  best  in  a  Tower- 
of-Babel  way;  for  La  Oriva  is  speaking  Spanish  to 
Madame  de  Merville,  the  attache"  jabbering  French, 
Katie  Mifflin  purring  with  a  Southern  accent,  and  Bost- 
wick doing  his  best  in  Western  vernacular,  as  the 
oysters  disappear  and  the  soup  takes  their  place,  these 
courses  being  silently,  yet  effectively,  served  by  an  old 
darkey  flunkey,  who  acts  as  Evie's  butler,  and  his  as- 
sistant, an  agile  young  waiter,  gleaned  from  one  of  the 
hotels  for  the  occasion. 

"You  have  just  taken  your  oath  of  office,  haven't 
you  ?  "  remarks  Miss  Georgie  enthusiastically  to  Guern- 
sey. "  How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  brand-new  United 
States  Senator  ?  I  look  at  you  and  wonder,  '  Does  he 
feel  too  big  for  his  boots  ? ' f> 


196  HER    SENATOR. 

"Young  lady,  you're  a  prophet!"  sighs  Guernsey, 
as  he  gives  a  wincing  glance  at  his  patent  leathers 
that,  being  new  and  pointed,  torture  his  feet  beneath 
the  mahogany. 

"  Do  they  hurt  you  very  much  ?  "  queries  Miss  Vi- 
vacity laughingly.  Then  she  whispers:  "Hush!  the 
Honorable  Mr.  Chippie  is  about  to  utter  wisdom." 

For  that  senator,  having  cleared  his  voice  by  a  pre- 
liminary cough,  turns  his  eyes  upon  the  Congressman 
and  remarks:  "  Sloville,  I  don't  think  I  shall  support 
the  Gelatine  schedule  as  sent  up  by  the  House.  I  may 
report  an  amendment  upon  it." 

"Oho!  Isn't  there  enough  jelly  in  the  bill  ?"  giggles 
Miss  Georgie ;  and  though  Chippie  joins  in  the  laugh 
he  thinks  savagely:  "Sharp-witted  little  wretch,  you 
go  off  Mrs.  Chippie's  visiting  list  on  the  double  quick!" 
A  thing  that  will  break  Miss  Parsons's  heart,  for  the 
girl  is  fighting  the  up-hill  social  fight  of  a  boarding- 
house-keeper's  daughter  in  Washington  society. 

But  Georgie  is  not  the  only  one  who  makes  enemies 
this  evening.  Somebody  chances  to  make  a  remark 
about  the  new  woman,  at  which  Evie  laughingly  cries: 

"Ah,  you  mean  our  failures!" 

"  Failures!  "  says  Miss  Tolstock.      "  FAILURES!" 

"Certainly,"  replies  Mrs.  Montressor,  carelessly. 
"No  woman  ever  wants  to  become  a  man  until  she  has 
failed  as  a  woman. " 

"Ah!  very  preety,  very  preety,"  remarks  Monsieur 
de  Merville.  "We  have  no  new  women  en  France 
Zat  ees  impossible.  Zey  may  dress  for  ze  cycle,  zey 
may  dress  for  ze  chase,  but  zey  are  still  women  ail  ze 
time." 

"And  what  do  you  mean  by  women  all  the  time  ?" 
says  Algeria  with  an  austere  shrug  of  her  masculine 
shoulders. 

"All  ze  time  ready  to  be  made  love  to! — La!  la!" 


HER   SENATOR.  1 97 

cries  the  Frenchman,  who  has  grown  enthusiastic  with 
his  champagne. 

"But  our  new  women  don't  get  the  chance,"  laughs 
Evie  lightly. 

"  Don't  they,"  cries  MissTolstock  savagely.  "Don't 
they? — LOOK  AT  ME!"  and  gazing  at  her  masculine 
muscles  and  powerful  shoulders,  an  irrepressible  giggle 
runs  over  the  company.  And  Evie  by  her  remark 
has  made  an  enemy  of  Algeria  Tolstock,  who  has  a 
cowardly  way  of  avenging  herself  by  anonymous 
articles  in  the  daily  press. 

Oh,  bright  tongues,  how  often  do  you  cost  your 
owners  dear ! 

Then  the  babble  runs  away  on  other  things — coming 
entertainments,  coming  politics — but  always  getting 
back  to  the  great  bill  which  is  at  present  fermenting  in 
the  American  Congress,  and  upon  whose  schedule  of 
duties  depends  the  value  of  Gelatine  stock,  Mr. 
Chippie  and  Mr.  Raleigh  both  adroitly  attempting  to 
pump  Guernsey  upon  his  position  on  the  bill,  which 
has  been  passed  by  the  House  and  sent  up  to  the  Sen- 
ate. As  the  vote  will  be  very  close,  they  are  exceed- 
ingly anxious  to  form  an  idea  of  the  new  man's  posi- 
tion. 

But  the  Honorable  James,  who  has  learned  the  habit, 
perchance  from  Indian  traders,  of  keeping  his  mouth 
shut  and  letting  the  other  man  do  the  talking, 
simply  replies:  "I  haven't  formed  an  opinion  on  it 
yet.  I  will  do  my  duty  according  to  my  lights  when 
the  time  comes,  though  I  would  like  a  little  informa- 
tion on  the  subject  from  others  who  are  better  posted." 

"  Oh,  you'll  get  plenty  of  that,"  laughs  Chippie, 
"  Everybody  is  on  one  side  or  the  other  of  the  bill,  but 
I  should  judge  you  are  on  the  fence." 

At  this  into  Evie's  mind  flies  joy  and  hope.  Guern- 
sey is  on  the  fence — can  she  pull  him  over  to  her  side 


198  HER   SENATOR. 

of  it?  For  somehow  or  other  into  her  mind  has  grad- 
ually come  this  day  the  thought  that  her  Senator  will  be 
a  difficult  man  to  "boss"  politically.  He  had,  to  use 
a  Western  expression,  "lassedand  run  away  with"  their 
interview  of  the  afternoon.  She  had  not  particu- 
larly wanted  to  be  kissed,  but  he  had  kissed  her;  she 
had  sturdily  repelled  being  seated  upon  his  knee,  but 
she  had  sat  there  like  a  naughty  little  girl  getting  a 
scolding  as  long  as  he  had  told  her  to.  She 
didn't  think  he  had  a  right  to  question  her  about  other 
gentlemen,  especially  Mr.  Steinbergh,  but  she  had 
told  him  all  he  asked.  Against  this,  he  had  looked 
sympathetic  when  she  had  sighed  that  her  Gelatine 
stock  was  going  down — down  ! 

Even  as  she  chats  across  the  table  to  him — she  dis- 
covers, there  is  one  way  of  "bossing"  him,  that  is  by 
appealing  to  his  masculine  strength,  and  appearing 
weak  as  the  ivy  that  clings  to  the  oak.  Then  hope 
becomes  dominant  as  Mr.  Chippie  enters  into  a  little 
dinner  flirtation  with  her;  for  she  notes  the  fire  of  jeal- 
ousy in  Guernsey's  eyes. 

"  MY  pathos  and  his  passion  shall  be  my  weapons!  " 
thinks  this  pretty  lady,  as  she  glances  over  the  white 
tablecloth  made  flowery  by  American  beauty  roses, 
and  discovers  that  neither  Georgie  Parsons's  bright 
face  nor  Katie  Minim's  glistening  shoulders  can  gain 
from  the  gentleman  more  than  passing  regard;  and 
the  last  is  a  beauty,  and  the  first  very  pertly-tongued 
and  very  laughing-eyed. 

So  the  dinner  runs  along  until  Evie,  giving  signal, 
rises  and  departs  with  her  bevy  of  ladies  into  the 
parlor,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  liquors,  cigars, 
and  masculine  confidences;  for  the  tongue  of  man 
flows  very  freely  after  dinner,  and  the  convivial  hour  is 
as  dangerous  to  mannish  secrets  as  ladies'  boudoirs  are 
to  feminine  "never-tells," 


HER  SENATOR.  199 

The  politicians  have  drawn  their  cnairs  round  Ra- 
leigh, and  are  talking  of  the  bill.  The  attache",  naval 
officer,  and  French  raconteur  are  gossiping  society  on 
dits  by  themselves. 

"You  know,  of  course,  the  closing  Gelatine  quota- 
tion to-night  ?  "  remarks  Sloville. 

"No.  It  was  strong  at  two  o'clock.  God  bless  my 
soul  I  have  not  read  the  evening  paper ! "  ejaculates 
Chippie  nervously. 

"Any  change  in  the  stock  market  ?"  asks  Bostwick 
anxiously. 

"Only  this,  that  within  the  last  five  minutes  of  the 
New  York  Stock  Board,  Gelatine  broke  three  per  cent." 

"Great  Heavens!"  cries  the  Honorable  Hugh  J. 
Chippie  turning  pallid. 

"My  God!  is  it  true?"  mutters  Bostwick,  stifling 
an  oath.  Gazing  at  these  two  gentlemen,  a  slight  smile 
goes  over  the  Congressman's  face,  and  he  guesses  that 
both  are  very  long  of  Gelatine  stock. 

As  for  Guernsey,  his  brow  lowers  also,  for  he  is 
thinking  this  will  be  a  blow  to  their  pretty  hostess. 
Noting  his  appearance  Sloville  puts  him  down  also  as 
a  speculator  in  that  stock  and  thinks:  "  Thunder!  This 
senator  was  bought  before  he  ever  took  his  seat!  " 

This  news  tends  to  break  up  the  dinner  party,  for 
Chippie  after  a  minute  drops  his  cigar,  which  has  now 
no  flavor  for  him,  and  Bostwick  snarlingly  gets  up  and 
mutters  he's  got  a  telegram  to  send,  which  is  the 
truth,  as  his  means  are  as  yet  comparatively  slender 
and  a  decided  fall  in  Gelatine  would  be  financial  dis- 
aster to  him. 

As  for  Chippie  he  cannot  personally  send  any  tele- 
gram for  he  is  prepared  to  swear  that  he  has  never 
bought  or  sold  a  share  of  the  stock,  and  to  do  this 
has  engaged  the  services  of  his  valet  who  signs  any 
orders  his  master  may  send  to  Wall  Street  brokers; 


200  HER   SENATOR. 

consequently  Chippie  is  in  a  hurry  to  dictate  to  his 
body-servant. 

Therefore  very  shortly  the  gentlemen  stroll  out  of 
the  dining-room  to  make  the  ladies  once  more  happy 
by  masculine  attentions;  Sloville,  who  is  a  man  of  grim 
humor,  going  out  last  and  chuckling  to  himself:  "  If 
the  fall  in  Gelatine  had  been  known  earlier,  this  would 
have  been  a  very  gloomy  dinner  party." 

The  social  atmosphere  of  the  drawing-room  proves  the 
truth  of  this,  for  Chippie's  confident  manner  has  become 
nervous,  and  his  strident  voice  is  now  husky  and  sub- 
dued, and  Bostwick's  only  remarks  are  snarls,  even 
though  Evie  seats  herself  beside  him  and  makes  little 
Katie  Mifflin  give  up  the  society  of  her  sailor-man  to 
bring  serenity  once  more  to  the  Senator's  countenance 
by  her  pretty  little  feminine  airs  and  graces. 

A  few  moments  after  her  guests  are  gone ;  all  save 
Guernsey. 

Walking  up  to  him  Evie  says  with  decided  voice: 
"You  must  go  also.  Don't  stay  a  moment.  Be 
sure  and  catch  Chippie  on  Connecticut  Avenue. 
Don't  let  them  say  you  remained  after  the  rest.  Don't, 
for  heaven's  sake,  let  Miss  Tolstock  think  you  have  the 
privilege  of  lingering  here. " 

"I  only  stayed,"  remarks  Guernsey,  "to  tell  you 
bad  news." 

"  Bad  news!"  Her  cheeks  grow  pale. 

"Your  stock  has  fallen  three  per  cent." 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,"  she  mutters.  Then 
looking  at  him  with  appealing  eyes  and  going  into  the 
ivy-and-oak  business,  she  murmurs:  "I  have  given  up 
hope  now.  Kiss  me  and  say  good-night." 

This  is  the  first  time  she  has  ever  proffered  her  lips 
to  him.  His  other  caresses  have  been  seized  from 
her  by  masterful  masculine  power.  Guernsey's  fourth 
kiss  is  therefore  tenderer  than  any  of  the  three  before, 


HER   SENATOR.  SOI 

and  it  seems  to  soften  her;  and  she  clings  round  him 
and  sighs:  "  My  only  hope  is  in  you." 

"Good  God !  is  it  as  bad  as  that?  " 

"  It  is  ruin,  that's  what  it  is — ruin — RUIN!  But  go 
away,  run  quick,  catch  Mr.  Chippie.  Don't  get  me 
talked  about !  " 

At  this,  Guernsey  making  a  plunge  for  his  overcoat, 
rushes  agilely  from  the  hall,  and  with  rapid  strides  over- 
takes his  less  vigorous  confrere  from  Populoso.  He 
also  takes  good  care  to  be  seen  within  five  minutes  in 
the  parlor  of  the  Arlington  by  Miss  Algeria  Tolstock, 
who  lives  at  this  hotel  and  generally  takes  a  late  supper 
even  after  a  dinner  party. 

But  all  the  while  Guernsey  is  thinking:  "If  I  could 
vote  for  the  schedule  of  the  gelatine  duties!  I  will 
hunt  up  statistics  and  see  the  truth  of  this  matter." 

Which  he  does  and  finds  to  his  astonishment  that 
gelatine  is  cheaper  under  the  Trust  than  it  has  ever 
been  before,  much  cheaper  ;  that  people  can  indulge  in 
gelatine  more  liberally  at  less  cost  than  they  could  be- 
fore the  Trust  had  put  its  "  vulture  claws" — as  he  re- 
members having  read  in  one  of  the  Western  newspapers 
— upon  the  throat  of  the  American  public. 

"Pray  God,"  he  mutters,  "it  may  be  my  duty  to 
vote  for  the  Gelatine  schedule,"  and  goes  to  bed,  to 
dream  not  of  politics  but  of  the  clinging  arms  and  kiss- 
ing lips  of  Evie  Montressor. 


HER   SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PRAYERS    TO    THE   DEVIL. 

But  other  gentlemen  toss  on  uneasy  pillows  this 
evening. 

The  Honorables  Hugh  J.  Chippie  and  Blatherskite 
Bostwick  are  not  making  a  comfortable  night  of  it. 
Both,  on  the  suggestions  of  the  wily  Steinbergh,  have 
gone  heavily  long  on  Gelatine  stock,  and  this  sudden 
fall  in  their  security  has  made  Chippie  angry  and 
Bostwick  frightened.  Chippie  has  plenty  of  money 
already,  and  is  an  expert  speculator  himself ;  but 
for  all  that  the  diminishment  of  his  investment,  even 
on  the  ticker,  does  not  give  him  pleasure. 

As  for  Blatherskite  Bostwick,  until  he  became  a 
senator  and  ready  to  barter  his  vote  he  had  never  had 
the  opportunity  of  speculating.  Thrown  into  power 
by  one  of  those  hysterical  Populist  waves  out  West, 
that  come  as  vigorously  and  as  unexpectedly  and  do 
as  much  damage  as  prairie  cyclones  and  blizzards,  Mr. 
Bostwick  had  never  before  had  the  chance  of  playing 
for  a  great  financial  stake.  He  has  put  all  the  money 
he  can  command  on  light  margin  into  Gelatine,  think- 
ing it  is  very  low,  as  in  truth  it  is — the  stock  having 
already  declined  thirty  per  cent. — and  intending  by  his 
vote  on  gelatine  duties  to  lift  it  up  again.  Therefore 
this  sudden  fall  in  his  security  fr  jhtens  the  g  ntlcman, 
for  a  still  further  decline  means  a  call  for  additional 
margins  by  his  brokers,  and,  failing  that,  the  sale  of  his 
securities.  He  is  in  the  same  predicament  as  half  a 
dozen  of  his  brother  senators,  and  Mr.  Steinbergh 
having  got  them  /"«,  is  now  shrewdly  putting  the  screws 
on  them  to  make  them  work  to  get  themselves  out  by 


HER  SENATOR.  ac>3 

passing  a  satisfactory  tariff  enactment  in  regard  to 
gelatine  that  will  make  the  stock  boom  and  soar  into 
the  financial  empyrean  above  par. 

At  present  the  man  who  holds  Gelatine  in  his  hand 
is  engaged  in  the  occupation  so  pleasant  to  the  mag- 
nates of  great  trusts,  of  "sawing  out  longs"  and 
"milking  the  street";  consequently  the  fluctuations  of 
the  stock  are  both  erratic  and  violent  in  the  extreme ; 
at  times  the  security  seeming  buoyant  as  a  balloon,  and 
at  others  falling  with  a  rapidity  that  makes  its  unfortu- 
nate holders  think  it  is  going  straight  to  Tophet,  and 
if  they  don't  sell  in  a  flash  they  will  go  to  financial 
perdition  with  it.  Already  a  wail  has  gone  up  from 
the  widows  and  orphans  who  are  holders  of  it  for 
investment. 

Now  this  kind  of  manipulation  is  a  process  with 
which  Mr.  Chippie  has  sometimes  indulged  himself  in 
railroad  securities  that  he  controls,  and  though  it 
makes  him  angry,  it  doesn't  worry  him  to  the  extent  it 
does  Mr.  Bostwick,  who  thinks  he  sees  bankruptcy 
staring  him  in  the  face,  yet  knows  he  will  never 
dare  to  shriek  out  his  plaint,  for  these  gentlemen  of 
the  Senate  have  all  declared  on  their  honor,  both  pub- 
licly and  privately,  that  not  one  of  them  has  bought  or 
sold  a  share  of  Gelatine  stock,  and  are  prepared  by 
oath,  if  necessary,  to  support  it  if  a  Senate  Com- 
mittee is  appointed  to  investigate;  and  most  of  the 
brokers  they  have  employed  are  prepared  to  swear 
with  them. 

Therefore,  though  to-night  Mr.  Steinbergh,  the  great 
Gelatine  Trust  magnate  rests  very  easily  on  his  downy 
couch  in  his  magnificent  apartments  in  New  York,  Mr. 
Chippie's  slumber  is  uneasy  and  restless,  and  the  Hon- 
orable Blatherskite  Bostwick  doesn't  know  what  sleep 
means  as  he  tosses  on  the  pillow  of  the  despairing 
speculator  throughout  the  unending  night,  and  rises  to 


«04  HER   SENATOR. 

senatorial  duties  in  the  morning,  hating  Wall  Street 
worse  than  ever  but  resolved  for  very  self-preservation 
to  fight  the  Gelatine  battle  with  all  his  pigmy  soul. 

These  two  statesmen's  breakfasts  would  probably  be 
more  unpalatable  to  them  than  they  are — likewise  that 
of  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey — could  they  but 
read  a  little  scented  note  that  has  been  despatched  by 
midnight  mail  and  has  arrived  in  New  York  just  about 
this  time,  and  is  being  read  by  the  gentleman  who  is 
the  author  of  their  miseries.  It  is  as  follows: 

DEAR  MR.  STEINBERGH  :  You  have  asked  me  to  keep  you 
au  courant  with  Washington  events,  especially  society  ones  ;  as 
you  suggested  that  social  straws  often  show  how  the  political 
feather  flies.  I  have  been  giving  a  little  series  of  dinner  parties 
as  you  advised.  One  of  them  took  place  last  night  and  was 
quite  a  success  I  can  tell  you.  Foui  senators  and  one  con- 
gressman honored  but  hardly  graced  my  table.  What  do  yon 
think  of  that?  The  Honorable  and  aristocratic  Hugh  J.  Chip- 
pie, the  populistic  Blatherskite  Bostwick,  and  the  staid  and 
solemn  Wilton  Raleigh  ;  likewise  the  Honorable  Doc  Guernsey, 
of  Populoso,  who  has  at  last  turned  up  from  the  West.  I  feared 
he  would  never  come.  Mr.  Sloville,  of  the  House  was  also 
present. 

I  don't  think  you  can  count  on  Mr.  Raleigh  to  vote  for 
the  Gelatine  schedule  of  duties,  though  he  states  he  is  reading 
up  statistics  on  it.  As  for  Bostwick  and  Chippie  you  have  got 
them  now  I  My  butler  informs  me  that  both  winced  when  they 
learnt  Gelatine  stock  had  gone  down. 

I  think  I  am  n»w  in  a  position  to  accept  your  very  generous 
offer.  Place  the  stock  to  my  account  and  I  will  deliver  the 
goods.  Very  gratefully  and  sincerely, 

EVELYN  MONTRESSOR. 

P.S. — Social  life  is  awfully  expensive  here.  Of  course  the 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  I  made  in  stocks  seems  a  large  sum  to 
&poor  man  like  you,  but  to  a  rich  woman  as  I  am  it  is  nothing  ! 
It  is  now  really,  truly  NOTHING  !  Place  the  stock  to  my  account 
as  soon  as  possible  and  then  make  it  go  up  high,  dear,  good 
Mr.  Steinbergh,  make  it  go  up  high.  E. 

To  this  she  receives  in  the  course  of  the  next  day 
the  following  characteristic  reply: 


HER    SENATOR.  205 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  MONTXESSOR:  I  bless  you,  astute  little  soul, 
and  thank  you  for  the  information  that  Chippie  and  Bostwick 
both  winced when  the  stock  went  down. 

You  will  receive  from  Messrs.  Castillio  &  Co.  a  statement 
that  you  have  purchased  five  thousand  shares  of  Gelatine  com- 
mon, at  to-day's  market  rates.  Then  do  your  best  to  make  the 
stock  rise,  for  if  you  don't  you  may  wince  like  Chippie  and 
Bostwick.  Heaven  helps  those  who  help  themselves  ! 
Yours  fraternally, 

S. 

This  makes  the  fair  widow's  faculties  very  keen  and 
she  notes  Steinbergh's  whip  is  doing  its  work  very  well 
upon  the  statesmen  in  Washington,  who  are  long  of 
Gelatine,  a  number  of  members  of  both  Houses 
being  in  the  same  predicament  as  Chippie  and  Bost- 
wick; and  within  the  next  few  days  this  coterie  of 
speculating  politicians  by  their  influence  succeed  in 
getting  the  proper  amendment  to  the  Gelatine  duties 
made  in  the  Senate  Committee  to  the  bill  that  has 
been  sent  up  to  it  from  the  Lower  House. 

Then  come  two  questions: 

First,  whether  this  amendment  will  pass  the  Senate ! 

Second,  if  it  does  pass  the  Senate,  can  the  Senate 
ram  it  down  the  throat  of  the  House  ? 

For  the  House,  coming  directly  from  the  people, 
has'more  of  the  people's  honesty  within  it,  it  being  more 
difficult  to  bribe  the  general  public,  than  it  is  to  de- 
bauch a  few  members  of  a  State  Legislature  in  the 
various  manners  usual  to  senatorial  contests,  /.  <r., 
promises  of  office,  promises  of  influence,  and  last  and 
not  least,  cash  down. 

But  the  vote  in  the  Senate  is  apparently  going  to  be 
very  close  upon  this  Gelatine  schedule  of  duties,  and 
Mr.  Steinbergh  in  his  philanthropic  way  gives  his  co- 
adjutors who  are  pressing  the  bill,  he  thinks,  rather  too 
indolently,  another  little  reminder  as  to  what  will  hap- 
pen to  them  in  case  it  doesn't  go  through.  Gelatine 
stock  makes  another  break  of  about  two  points  in  less 

I 


2o6  HER  SENATOR. 

than  two  minutes  in  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange. 
This  news  brings  the  perspiration  of  agony  upon  some 
of  their  brows,  especially  Bostwick's;  who  curses  Wall 
Street,  but  works  all  the  harder  under  its  lash — fear- 
ing he  will  be  sold  out. 

In  this  he  is  a  fool.  Mr.  Steinbergh  does  not  wish 
to  sell  him  out,  then  he  would  surely  vote  against  the 
Gelatine  duties.  He  merely  wants  to  frighten  his 
friends  in  the  Senate  and  make  them  work  like  beavers 
to  give  him  the  duties  he  wants. 

But  while  the  magnate  of  the  Gelatine  Trust  is 
squeezing  the  patriotic  statesmen  of  the  Senate,  he 
is  also  squeezing  the  pocket  of  his  fair  coadjutor, 
Evelyn  Montressor.  And  this  is  reflected  in  her  man- 
ner to  Mr.  Guernsey. 

In  her  anguish  she  has  cried  to  herself,  "  I  will  have 
his  vote.  I  must  have  his  vote!  "  and  has  voiced  this 
extraordinary  proposition  from  woman's  logic!  "It 
would  be  dishonorable,  for  me  not  to  gain  his  vote;  I 
have  promised  it! " 

To  this  task  she  has  set  herself  with  all  her  feminine 
tact,  all  her  vivacious  beauty ;  bringing  every  charm  of 
manner,  every  tenderness  of  mien,  so  as  to  win 
Jim  Guernsey's  heart  and  make  it  her  very  own, 
even  to  the  extent,  that  for  her  he  may  sacrifice,  if 
need  be,  the  respect  of  men,  to  do  her  bidding  in 
the  halls  of  the  United  States  Senate. 

She  does  not  dare  to  essay  this  openly,  one  or 
two  hints  on  the  subject  not  having  been  received 
encouragingly.  One  afternoon  she  has  said  to  him — 
for  he  has  now  got  into  the  habit  of  dropping  into  her 
pretty  flat  at  odd  times :  ' '  Now,  J — Jim — "  (Heavens ! 
how  alluring  she  makes  the  "J — Jim!")  "Now 
J — Jim,  you'll  do  one  thing  for  me,  won't  you  ? " 

"You  bet !  "  cries  the  enchanted  Guernsey,  forget- 
ting diction  in  his  rapture, 


HER   SENATOR.  207 

"Then  when  the  vote  comes  in  the  Senate  upon 
which  my  little  fortune  depends " 

"I'll  do  what  I  think  is  square,"  interjects  the  Sena- 
tor. "  I  thought  you  meant  a  personal  service.  That 
is  yours  to  command,  Sis.  But  in  my  political  life  I 
don't  want  a  woman  boss. "  Then  he  gazes  at  the  bust 
of  Daniel  Webster  and  mutters:  "Great  Scott  !  what 
would  that  patriot  have  said  to  a  woman  boss  !" 

"He'd — he'd  have  loved  a  dozen  of  them,"  laughs 
Mrs.  Montressor. 

"  Humph  !  I  believe  Daniel  did  love  the  ladies," 
assents  the  Senator  grimly;  then  goes  on  sternly: 
"But  there's  no  record  he  ever  elected  one  of  them  his 
political  boss.  And  look  here,  little  girl — "  his  tone  is 
very  solemn  now — "  if  you  want  me  to  love  you  as  you 
ought  to  be  loved,  you'll  not  mention  this  matter  again 
to  me.  You  wring  my  heart  strings  by  your  appeals. 
But  Jim  Guernsey  has  taken  his  oath  of  office  and 
every  time  he  votes  he  remembers  it.  Quit  talking  of 
politics  that  you  don't  understand  and  play  me  the 
'Whistling  Coon.'  You  sing  as  well  as  if  you  had 
been  a  professional." 

This  request  Mrs.  Montressor  has  deemed  it  best  to 
comply  with,  and  very  docilely  has  sung  this  touching 
negro  melody  with  such  dainty  pathos  and  such  ex- 
quisite voice,  that  Guernsey  has  cried  in  admiration : 
"  Thunder,  Evie!  You  ought  to  go  on  the  stage ! " 

And  she  has  astonished  and  horrified  him  by  sighing: 
"That's  where  I  shall  have  to  go,  if  Gelatine  sinks 
much  lower!  " 

But  here  he  astounds  her,  for  he  says  authoritatively: 
"The  stage?  I  shall  not  permit  it!  Suppose  I  will 
have  the  eyes  of  a  thousand  theatre-goers  gazing 
at  you  every  night  ?  No,  Miss,  not  this  trip,  by 
the  scalp  of  Sitting  Bull!  " 

This  style  of  talk,  which  he  has  indulged  in  several 


208  HER   SENATOR. 

times  lately,  makes  Evelyn  gaze  at  Mr.  James  Guern- 
sey with  a  kind  of  horror  in  her  eyes.  "  He  seems  to 
believe  that  I  belong  to  him,"  she  thinks,  patting  the 
carpet  nervously  with  her  little  foot.  "Perchance 
he  wishes  me  to  become  a  pauper,  so  that  I  will 
be  entirely  in  his  power."  Then  she  clenches  her 
exquisite  fist  savagely,  and  cogitates:  "You  infamous 
villain,  just  like  your  father!  Thank  God,  I  am  a 
helpless  child  no  more !  "  and  would  gaze  upon  her 
mentor  with  evil  eye,  did  she  but  dare. 

Another  incident  that  takes  place  soon  afterward, 
and  which  she  resents,  makes  her  think  she  hates  him 
even  more. 

Guernsey,  lounging,  after  his  easy  manner,  into  Mrs. 
Montressor's  parlor,  for1  he  now  with  Western  breezi- 
ness  apparently  thinks  he  owns  the  flat,  chances  to  put 
his  eyes  upon  a  dispatch  lying  ready  for  district  tele- 
graph boy,  and  noting  it  is  addressed  to  Augustus  Stein- 
bergh  his  gaze  becomes  stern,  his  manner  preoccupied; 
he  does  not  even  greet  the  lady  he  has  come  to  see  as 
she  sits,  alluring  to  look  upon,  in  unconventional  but 
coquettish  teagown. 

Evie  murmurs  to  him:  "You  haven't  kissed  me, 
Jim!"  For  by  this  time  the  widow  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  play  for  her  Senator's  heart  strings,  not  for  his 
judgment. 

This  he  does  not  answer  directly  but  says  quite 
sternly:  "You  send  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Steinbergh? 
You  know  I  don't  care  about  your  communicating  with 
him." 

"Not  even  to  save  the  little  that  is  left  me  ?"  she 
murmurs,  then  cries  almost  savagely :  ' '  You  didn't  want 
me  to  see  him.  I  have  not  seen  him — to  my  financial 
ruin,  perhaps — I  have  not  seen  him  !  And  now  you 
object  to  a  telegram." 

For  one  moment  Evie's  eyes  blaze  at  hr-  self-consti' 


HER  SENATOR.  2Op 

tuted  tyrant,  but  forcing  herself  to  play  her  role,  she 
suddenly  tears  open  the  envelope  that  contains  the  dis- 
patch, holds  it  before  Guernsey's  eyes  and  sobs  : 
"Read  it,  if  that  will  please  you,  read  it !  " 

Then  Guernsey  sees  to  his  dismay  the  following  de- 
spairing communication: 

If  my  brokers  call  on  me  for  more  margins  I  cannot 
respond,  I  am  ruined.  Please,  if  the  stock  goes  up  a  little  bit, 
sell  all  I  have  and  save  me  from  penury.  E.  M. 

From  this  her  tyrant  turns  eyes  of  sympathy  and 
admiration  upon  his  enchantress,  who  now  sits  a  picture 
of  drooping  loveliness  before  him.  Perchance  his 
gaze  might  have  more  admiration  and  less  sympathy 
did  he  guess  that  this  dispatch  has  been  placed  upon 
the  table  for  his  jealous  glance  to  fall  upon  it,  so  that 
he  may  make  the  very  demand  he  has  made,  and  read 
the  message  that  has  been  written  not  for  the  finan- 
cier's eyes,  but  for  his. 

Suddenly  the  Western  senator  astounds  her  and 
makes  her  for  one  instant  ashamed.  He  whispers  to 
her:  "Cheer  up,  little  girl!  I'll  make  your  stock  go 
up.  /  can  do  it  by  ten  words  !  " 

"What  are  those  ?" 

"  One  sentence  spoken  in  the  United  States  Senate 
this  afternoon.  They  think  that  upon  my  vote  depends 
the  success  or  failure  of  the  Gelatine  schedule.  I 
understand  Raleigh  will  to-day  state  that  statistics 
show  that  since  the  formation  of  the  Trust,  gelatine 
has  become  cheaper  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  United 
States." 

"  And  you  ?  "  falters  Evelyn,  her  eyes  flaming  with 
sudden  hope. 

"I  ?  I  shall  say  I  have  also  examined  the  statistics 
and  I  find  that  the  Senator  from  Kalamazah  is  cor- 
rect!" That'll  make  Wall  street  think  I  am  going  to 
vote  for  the  Gelatine  schedule,"  remarks  Guernsey 


a  10  HER  SENATOR. 

grimly.  "  It  is  very  sensitive  to  the  words  of  Senators 
at  this  moment." 

"God  bless  you  !  "  she  mutters  faintly. 

"  I'm  not  too  sure  that  God  will  bless  me  or  Wall 
Street  either  ultimately,"  chuckles  the  statesman, 
'  but  if  you  bless  me,  kiss  your  Jimmie. "  Which  she 
does. 

Then  Guernsey  speaks  again.  "  I'll  send  the  tele- 
gram to  Steinbergh  ordering  him  to  sell  your  stock.  I 
would  prefer  that  you  did  not  communicate  with  him 
directly." 

"You — you  don't  like  Mr.  Steinbergh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  dislike  him.  He's  a  very  pleasant  com- 
panion, too  pleasant  a  fellow, "he  says  grimly,  "  to  have 
galavanting  about  my  inclosure." 

With  these  enigmatical  words  Guernsey  goes  away, 
but  does  this  afternoon  in  the  halls  of  the  Senate  what 
he  has  promised,  and,  his  words  being  flashed  over  the 
country,  Wall  Street  thinks  the  Gelatine  schedule  sure 
of  passing.  So  does  Steinbergh,  and  up  it  goes  half  a 
dozen  points. 

For  this,  the  ensuing  day  the  Senator  receives  such 
pretty  thanks  from  bright  eyes  and  sweet  lips  that  it 
puts  him  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  amorous  delight. 

He  says  to  Evie:  "Now,  I'll  telegraph  to  sell  your 
stock,  little  woman.  Don't  communicate  with  Mr. 
Steinbergh." 

This  he  does  this  very  night.  But  he  does  not  guess 
that  another  telegram  has  been  sent  to  the  financier  by 
the  lady  for  whom  he  is  acting,  telling  him  to  pay  no 
attention  to  any  communications  signed  "Guernsey," 
but  to  hold  all  telegrams  received  with  that  signature 
very  carefully — for  further  us. 

On  receiving  Steinbergh's  answer  to  her  communica- 
tion Evelyn  thinks  grimly:  "  My  Senator  has  put  inio 
my  hands  the  weapon  with  which  to  ruin  him  in  thf 


HER   SENATOR.  21 1 

sight  of  his  fellow  men.  From  now  on  he  may  swear 
that  he  has  had  no  transactions  in  Gelatine,  but  I  hold 
the  dispatch  that  will  prove  Jim  Guernsey,  United 
States  Senator  from  Populoso,  has  dealt  in  at  least 
five  thousand  shares  of  that  stock.  By  his  speech  he 
has  made  Gelatine  go  up;  then  he  has  sold  it!  "  And 
she  clenches  her  little  fist,  and  cries  to  herself:  "I'll, 
ruin  him!  He  would  make  me  absolutely  dependent 
upon  him — for  WHAT?  To  prey  upon  my  helplessness! 
His  infamous  father  stole  my  birthright.  This  villain- 
son  would  steal  from  me  my  right  to  look  other  wo- 
men in  the  face.  He  cannot  mean  anything  else,  he 
has  the  Guernsey  blood,  hypocrite,  scoundrel !  Oh !  how 
I  hate  him! — hate  him  ! — HATE  HIM!  "  seeming  to  take 
a  hysterical  pleasure  in  these  words  that  she  has  very 
often  said  to  herself  in  the  last  few  days. 

A  moment  after  she  sneers:  "He  has  done  this 
little  thing  for  me  for  jealousy  of  Steinbergh,"  then 
utters  this  unholy  petition:  "O  Father  of  lies!  If  I 
can  make  him  supremely  jealous!  The  moment  I 
make  him  that — I  WIN  !  " 

And  as  if  His  Satanic  Majesty  had  been  listening  to 
her  prayer — for  the  devil  generally  puts  a  trump  card 
into  a  lady's  hand  at  the  proper  moment  in  such  a 
game  as  this — this  very  evening  into  Washington,  with 
flaming  posters  and  big  head  lines  in  the  newspapers, 
comes  the  Lucile  Jervaise  Opera  Company,  bearing  as 
its  second  tenor,  under  the  stage  name  of  Claude  Au- 
chester,  the  ex-husband  of  the  lady  who  would  play 
with  the  heart  of  the  Hon.  James  B.  Guernsey,  Senator 
from  Populoso. 

To  add  to  the  ingredients  of  this  strange  melange 
there  also  journeys  a  day  or  two  after  into  the  capital 
Gonzalo  de  Oriva,  who  has  been  called  to  this  place 
by  a  letter  from  his  mother  that  has  contained  the 
following  lines,  which  fire  the  Spanish  blood : 


212  HER    SENATOR, 

I  fear  Senior*  Montressor  is  being  persecuted  by  the  love  of 
Seflor  Guernsey,  the  mighty  Senador  from  the  Occidente.  Since 
he  has  arrived  thy  beautiful  darling  has  grown  pale,  nervous, 
trembling,  and  has  said  many  prayers  to  the  devil. 

On  reading  this  the  Spaniard  has  ground  his  white 
teeth  and  muttered:  "  Caramba!  I  will  eat  his  heart ! 
Vatnos  Gonzalo ! " 


HER   SENATOR. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    SECOND    TENOR    MAKES    A    HIT. 

INTO  this  affair  there  also  comer  a  malicious, 
and  ruin,  feminine  hate. 

Algeria  Tolstock  having  chosen  to  consider  Evelyn 
Montressor's  words  about  the  new  woman  at  the  din- 
ner party  as  personal  sneers  against  herself,  is  pre- 
pared to  avenge  them  by  a  number  of  arts — most  of 
which  are  not  manly. 

This  lady  would  probably  have  hated — in  fact  did 
hate — the  fair  widow  from  the  moment  Evie's  charm- 
ing personality  brought  envy  to  the  lone  spinster's 
heart.  She  hates  Evelyn  for  her  beauty,  which  Miss 
Tolstock  has  not;  likewise  because  of  her  prosperity; 
for  every  time  Algeria  sees  Mrs.  Montressor's  dashing 
equipage  with  prancing  horses  and  natty  coachman  fly 
past  her,  as  she  tramps  the  wintry  streets  of  Washing- 
ton, she  grinds  one  part  of  her  soul  against  the  other. 

What  Algeria  hates  she  chastises !  She  says  to  her- 
self: "This  siren  has  meshed  in  her  artful  net  the 
innocent,  simple-minded  statesman  from  the  West.  It 
shall  be  my  duty  to  save  him !  " 

In  this  pursuit  she  has  placed  herself  at  various  times 
in  mannish  and  alluring  fashion  in  the  presence  of  this 
gentleman  she  would  protect,  in  hotel  corridors,  the 
parlors  of  the  Arlington,  and  other  localities  where  she 
can  conveniently  get  at  him. 

But  to  her  free  and  easy,  "  How  are  you,  Jim  ?  "  or 
"Could  you  give  me  a  card  to  ladies'  gallery,  Ser  - 
tor,"  as  well  as  soft  glances  of  her  coquettish  mascu- 
line eyes,  Guernsey  has^aid  little  heed. 


414  HER   SENATOR 

This  has  angered  her,  and  she  has  muttered:  "I 
will  be  revenged  on  both  of  them.  He  wants  to  be 
a  villain ;  I  shall  not  stop  him,  but  I  will  make  it  appar- 
ent to  the  world.  The  light  of  the  press  shall  illumine 
the  intrigues  of  this  Delilah,  who  is  shearing  the  head 
of  the  Samson  from  the  West.  With  my  pen  dipped 
in  venom  will  I  stab  them  both." 

Materials  are  not  lacking  for  the  article  she  proposes. 
Washington  has  already  put  its  eyes  upon  the  beautiful 
widow,  and  said  slyly  to  itself:  "Jim  Guernsey  is  a 
lucky  fellow;  he's  got  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  capital!  " 
Several  interviews  this  self-appointed  guardian  of  virtue 
has  with  Pythagoras — in  which  she  deftly  pumps 
Evie's  darkey  page  by  means  of  the  pervading  dollar 
system,  which  in  Washington  goes  up  in  increasing 
volume  from  the  waiters  at  Chamberlin's  to  the  Senate 
chamber  itself— procures  spicy  reports  of  certain  ten- 
der passages  that  have  occurred  between  the  Senator 
and  the  lady  upon  whom  he  lavishes  his  attentions. 

"  Clar  to  goodness;"  remarks  Pythagoras;  "  clar  to 
goodness,  yo  should  see  'em,  Missie  Tall  Stalks.  Dey 
just  hangs  on  each  Oder's  lips  like  bull  purps  fightin'. 
But  don't  you  gibe  me  away.  I  wouldn't  tell  yo  dis  ef 
it  wasn't  fo'  the  Senator  callin*  me  a  black-skinned 
imp,  'cause  I  burned  his  rubber  galloshoes  heatin'  'em 
in  de  hall  furnace!  " 

From  these  revelations  of  the  page  and  words  that 
have  come  to  her  from  one  or  two  visitors  at  Sara- 
toga and  Narragansett  during  the  preceding  summer, 
grouped  together  in  a  mind  of  massive  grasp  for  scan- 
dal in  general  and  feminine  depravity  in  particular, 
this  lady  of  anonymous  newspaper  correspondence  has 
produced  an  article  which  she  has  sent  with  ghoulish 
glee  to  the  editor  of  the  Silveropolis  Buzzard!  a 
journal  which  is  at  present  devoting  itself  to  attacking 
first,  foremost  and  all  the  time  the  Honorable  James  B. 


HER   SENATOR.  215 

Guernsey,  Senator  from  Populoso,  who  will  not  vote 
for  pensioning  the  sister  of  the  editor  of  said  paper  as 
the  widow  of  a  veteran,  this  lady  having — while  still  in 
short  skirts,  five  years  after  the  war  had  ended — mar- 
ried a  decrepit  recruiting  sergeant  on  his  death-bed 
with  a  view  to  the  aforesaid  pension.  This  emolument 
having  been  complacently  reckoned  up  by  the  editor  of 
the  paper  as  one  of  his  family's  goods,  chattels,  and 
endowments,  the  non-receipt  of  it  makes  him  think 
the  American  Congress  the  home  of  devils. 

In  addition  to  this,  for  the  last  two  or  three  weeks, 
Miss  Algeria  has  been  stabbing  Evelyn  beneath  the 
clavicle  by  anonymous  letters  that  she  has  sent  to  the 
devoted  Guernsey  hinting  that  Evie  is  not  a  widow, 
suggesting  that  she  may  have  never  been  a  wife,  and 
insinuating  that  a  few  pertinent  questions,  if  answered 
truthfully  by  Augustus  Steinbergh  of  the  New  York 
Gelatine  Trust,  might  open  the  eyes  of  the  guileless 
Western  statesman. 

It  is  these  letters  that  have  made  Guernsey  so  deter- 
minedly jealous  of  Steinbergh.  But  he  has  said  no 
word  of  them  to  the  lady  accused,  thinking  to  himself: 
"  I  won't  shame  her  by  asking  her  to  answer  anony- 
mous communications.  But  if  I  can  put  my  hands  on 
the  living  author  of  these  letters,  by  the  eternal,  the 
chap  shall  stand  face  to  face  with  the  woman  he  has 
maligned,"  for  Miss  Algeria's  communications  have 
been  made  by  typewriter,  which  has  been  invented  by 
the  devil  for  disguising  handwriting,  and  Guernsey 
thinks  they  come  from  man,  not  woman. 

It  is  with  these  disturbing  ideas  in  his  head  that 
one  evening  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey  takes 
his  place  in  a  stage  box  at  the  National  Theatre,  very 
proud  to  have  by  his  side  the  woman  he  thinks  the 
handsomest  in  Washington. 

The  performance    is  one  of   Offenbach's  master- 


21 6  HER   SENATOR 

pieces,  the  music  of  which  has  been  emasculated  by 
the  additions  and  alterations  of  an  American  orchestral 
leader  who  has,  with  that  audacious  vanity  peculiar  to 
small  minds,  imagined  he  could  improve  the  rhythms 
that  set  the  world  dancing,  and  the  melodies  that  made 
the  world  whistle.  Dead  genius  should  be  left  alone 
by  those  who  cannot  themselves  originate. 

The  audience  is  large  as  well  as  fashionable,  and 
the  piece  being  very  handsomely  staged  and  volup- 
tuously embellished  by  a  number  of  very  pretty  girls  in 
the  chorus,  the  performance  delights  and  amuses  Mr. 
Guernsey,  who  has  not  yet  become  blast  with  the 
elaborate  mise-cn-sc£ne,  gorgeous  costuming  and  gener- 
ous mounting  of  the  Eastern  theatres. 

Mrs.  Montressor,  sitting  in  the  front  of  the  box  which 
looks  almost  directly  on  the  stage,  enjoys  it  also.  It 
at  least  serves  to  divert  her  thoughts  from  the  subject 
on  which  they  have  dwelt  so  intently  for  many  weeks, 
and  which  now  is  approaching  its  crisis;  for  all  the 
time  she  is  asking  herself  this  question:  "Will  I  be 
able  to  deliver  '  the  goods  '  ?  " 

Therefore  she  is  very  complaisant,  charming,  and 
flattering  to  "the  goods  "  as  they  sit  a  little  in  front  of 
her,  for  Guernsey  having  grown  eager,  is  leaning  out 
over  the  stage  applauding  the  efforts  of  the  chorus  who 
are  composed  of  very  pretty  feminine  soldiers  and  a 
mixture  of  loutish  German  peasants — together  with  the 
witcheries  of  Wanda  and  the  buffooneries  of  the  bari- 
tone comedian  as  General  Boom. 

In  truth,  they  both  enjoy  the  performance  very  well  un- 
til the  entry  of  the  effeminate  Prince  Paul,  the  degener- 
ate scion  of  an  effete  German  principality.  This  la-de- 
da  creature  is  played  by  a  big,  hulking  fellow,  whose 
blond  hair  is  concealed  by  an  elaborate  wig  and  his 
features  ornamented  by  a  long,  thoroughly  waxed 
mustache. 


HER    SENATOR.  417 

On  his  entrance  the  princeling's  face  has  been 
turned  from  Evelyn,  and  his  tone  has  been  affected; 
but,  as  he  breaks  out  into  the  air  entitled  "The 
Gazette  of  Holland,"  his  singing  voice,  especially 
his  manner  of  always  giving  his  high  notes  _/?<*/, 
strikes  Mrs.  Montressor  with  a  presage  of  impend- 
ing doom.  Then,  as  he  crosses  to  left  center 
and  turns  his  face  in  sickly  smile  upon  the 
audience,  hoping  to  catch  its  admiration,  his  eyes 
meet  those  of  the  lady  in  the  first  stage  box,  who  gazes 
at  him  as  if  he  were  a  basilisk.  Her  face  grows  white 
as  the  marble  column  behind  it;  her  gloved  hand, 
which  has  been  carelessly  extended  beyond  the  rail  of 
her  box,  grasping  a  programme  she  has  not  read,  be- 
comes as  paralyzed,  and  from  its  feeble  fingers  the  play- 
bill escapes  and  drops  upon  the  stage. 

This  calls  Guernsey's  attention  to  her.  He  turns, 
and,  seeing  her  face,  mutters,  in  alarm:  "Good 
Heavens,  you  are  ill!" 

"  Not — not  at  all,"  falters  Evelyn. 

"  By  Jove,  you  must  be  ill — you're  white  as  snow  by 
moonlight." 

"  The  calcium  light  was  accidentally  thrown  upon 
me.  I'm  all  right,"  she  murmurs;  then,  for  she  has  a 
strong  soul  in  her  fair  body,  attempting  playfulness, 
she  laughs;  "Perhaps,  however,  Prince  Paul's  atro- 
cious phrasing  and  fearful  flatting  gave  me  a  shudder," 
next  mutters:  "  You  know  my  musical  ear  is  very  deli- 
cate." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  have  the  prettiest  ears  on  earth," 
whispers  the  enraptured  Senator,  "and  you  sing  like  a 
prima  donna,  or  better."  To  this  he  adds,  grimly: 
"You  had  better  stick  cotton- wool  in  your  ears  now! 
Great  Scott!  the  second  tenor  is  singing  worse  than 
ever!" 

This  is    true,  as   Prince  Paul,  in  his    next   verse, 


2l8  HER   SENATOR. 

seems  to  have  gone  astray  entirely,  both  as  regards 
notes  and  lyrics.  But  it  rather  adds  to  his  perform- 
ance of  the  stupid  German  Prince  in  the  eyes  of  the 
audience,  who  imagine  his  personal  stupidity  the  as- 
sumed embarrassment  of  the  dudish  princeling,  and 
Claude  Auchester  receives  more  applause  for  this  than 
he  has  ever  obtained  since  he  joined  the  Lucile  Jervaise 
Opera  Company — so  much  that  the  comedian,  who 
essays  General  Boom,  claps  him  on  the  shoulder  at  their 
exit,  and  says : 

"By  donkeys  !  you've  made  a  hit,  old  man,  not 
only  with  the  audience  but  with  that  corking  woman  in 
the  stage  box  ! " 

"Yes,  I've  made  a  hit  with  her  before,"  mutters 
Claude,  who  cannot  restrain  his  self-glorification,  for 
Evie,  as  she  sits  in  her  box  that  night,  is  a  dream  of 
beauty;  desperation  and  embarrassment  adding  a  new, 
yet  lovely  light  to  her  eyes  and  a  nervous  intensity  to 
each  pose  or  gesture,  giving  to  her  almost  that  strange 
yet  weird  fascination  of  hypnotic  trance. 

"Ah,  you  know  her,  you  break-heart  Lothario  with 
the  lion's  hair  and  the  rat's  voice  ? "  chuckles  the 
comedian. 

"I  should  think  so,  you  comedian  of  rat's  face  and 
lion's  voice,"  returns  the  second  tenor  savagely. 
"She's  my  wife  !" 

"Your  wife?  Great  jingo!"  stutters  General 
Boom,  then  he  whispers  jocularly:  "  Number  one,  two, 
or  three  ?  "  and  goes  away  very  full  of  his  news. 
This  soon  gets  bruited  about  among  the  company 
from  chorus  to  prima  donna;  the  consequence  being 
that  all  upon  the  stage  turn  their  gaze  upon  the 
lady  in  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey's  box;  the 
chorus  sings  at  her,  the  prima  donna  acts  at  her,  and  the 
first  tenor,  leaving  the  center  of  the  stage,  sighs  his 
love  notes  almost  in  to  her  ear;  the  conspirators  dange 


HER    SENATOR.  2 19 

at  her,  and  finally,  during  the  ball-room  scene  in  the 
second  act,  the  calcium  man  behind  the  scenes,  want- 
ing to  get  a  good  view  of  her,  turns  his  limelight  upon 
her;  and,  inspired  by  the  Thespian  desire  of  showing 
off  and  "mashing,"  the  company  give  the  best  per- 
formance they  have  ever  rendered  of  La  Grande 
Duchcssc,  in  honor  of  Claude  Auchester's  beautiful 
spouse. 

All  enjoy  it  except  the  ex-husband  and  the  ex-wife. 
Guernsey  smiles  complacently  and  whispers :  '  'By  scalp- 
locks!  Evie,  your  beauty  has  made  a  hit  on  the  stage 
as  well  as  with  the  audience.  See  that  infernal  first 
tenor  make  eyes  at  you!  " 

"Pshaw!  it's  an  ovation  to  you,"  laughs  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor  forcing  herself  to  lightness.  "Do  you  notice 
how  that  pretty  chorus-girl  at  the  end  of  the  quadrille 
— the  one  in  the  green  brocade  court  dress — is  ogling 
you  ?  " 

"Oh!  the  one  with  the  lace  stockings  ?"  remarks  the 
statesman,  complacently. 

"Yes,  you  are  right  about  the  hosiery, "giggles  Evie, 
half  hysterically,  for  just  at  this  moment  Prince  Paul 
has  given  her  a  most  love-sick  glance.  Then  she  mur- 
murs, archly:  "  I  suppose  you'll  want  to  take  me  home 
before  the  end  of  the  performance  so  you  can  be  at  the 
stage  entrance  with  the  dude  clerks  of  the  Treasury 
Department  ?  " 

"Why,  Sis,  I  haven't  been  on  a  spree  since  I  came 
to  Washington,"  mutters  Guernsey,  in  wounded  tone. 
To  this  he  adds  complacently:  "  That's  doing  pretty 
well,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  for  a  senator,"  murmurs  Evelyn,  as  she  fights 
her  battle  against  embarrassment,  which  is  not  helped 
by  the  statesman  suddenly  whispering  savagely:  "  It's 
remarkably  curious  the  way  the  second  tenor  scowls  at 
me  every  chance  he  gets." 


22O  HER   SENATOR. 

This  is  true,  as  the  comedian  has  playfully  put 
Claude  Auchester  in  paroxysms  of  rage  by  remarking: 
"My  dear  boy,  you're  left!  Don't  you  see  the  big 
man — big  gun  he  must  be,  senator  or  head  of  a  de- 
partment, or  some  other  government  swell  ?  He's 
sweeter  on  your  wife  than  if  she  were  corn  juice.  Why 
don't  you  tackle  him  and  get  a  backer  ?  Many  a  fellow 
has  gone  starring  on  less  ! " 

This  kind  of  insinuation  does  not  make  Evie's  ex- 
husband  feel  kindly  to  the  big  man  in  dress  suit  and 
ample  white  waistcoat  who  is  applauding  vigorously  at 
every  point,  and  his  rage  is  augmented  by  the  prima 
donna,  who  is  a  vivacious  little  wag  in  her  way,  whis- 
pering to  him  in  wicked  archness  as  they  dance  in  the 
second  act:  "  Does  he  pay  you  alimony  ?  " 

So  all  this  evening  Claude,  whenever  the  stage  busi- 
ness will  permit  him,  regards  Guernsey  with  malevolent 
glances,  and  Evelyn  with  appealing  ones,  that  make  her 
sick  at  heart,  for  she  knows  they  mean  further  appeals 
to  her  purse,  if  not  to  her  affections,  and  perchance 
some  horrible  faux  pas  that  may  embarrass  if  not 
destroy  her  chances  of  James  B.  Guernsey's  vote  in 
the  Senate. 

But  Claude's  glances  are  as  nothing  to  the  fitful 
flashes  that  come  from  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  in  the 
orchestra,  the  eyes  of  Gonzalo,  the  Spaniard,  who 
notes  the  pallor  of  his  lady-love  in  the  box,  and  attrib- 
uting it  to  her  disgust  at  the  attentions  and  persecu- 
tions of  the  great  Western  senator  mutters  to  him- 
self: "Diablo!  Querida  mia  is  sighing  for  me.  She 
has  discovered  that  she  loves  me  !  She  is  dying  slowly 
beneath  that  ladron's  nauseous  endearments.  Santos  ! 
but  I  am  the  man  to  stop  it! " 

So  Evie  sits  gazing  on  the  merry  opera,  its  jokes  as 
naught  to  her,  its  music  a  babel  of  sound ;  in  her  mind 
one  idea — how  can  she  get  out  of  the  theatre  before 


HER   SEN  ATOP  231 

Claude  intrudes  himself  upon  her  to  toite  her  to  an  ex- 
planacion  with  Guernsey  that  may  be  fatal  to  her  pro- 
ject. She  knows  that  no  diffidence  or  modesty  will 
keep  her  ex-husband  from  intruding  upon  her:  that  it 
will  be  a  race  for  her  to  escape  from  the  theater  be- 
fore he  can  get  to  her  side. 

She  does  not  dare  to  hurry  her  escort  away  before 
the  curtain  falls,  fearing  it  will  produce  comment  ;  but 
even  as  the  green  baize  descends  she  lays  entreating 
hand  upon  the  Senator's  black  coat-sleeve  and  murmurs : 

Take  me  to  supper,  quick  !  " 

"You're  hungry,  little  woman  ?  "  he  questions. 

"Yes,  and  thirsty!" 

In  this  she  tells  the  truth,  for  her  throat  is  burning 
with  feverish  dismay,  her  voice  is  husky  with  anxiety. 

Thus  adjured,  Guernsey  remarks  complacently:  "  So 
am  I !  "  Then,  being  a  quick  man  with  clothes,  he  slips 
on  his  overcoat,  and,  taking  Mrs.  Montressor  on  his 
arm  elbows  his  way  through  the  crowd  with  Western 
promptness  and  modern  disregard  of  other  people's  toes ; 
and  their  carriage  being  brought  hurriedly  up,  they 
make  a  rapid  drive  to  Mr.  Chamberlin's  celebrated 
restaurant  on  McPherson  Square. 

There  the  lady  eats  but  little,  though  she  drinks  her 
champagne  in  a  feverish  way,  appearing  distraught  and 
absent-minded — so  much  so  that  the  Senator  observes 
in  anxious  voice:  "You  don't  seem  to  be  up  to  your 
usual  high  level,  girly-gurly !  Too  much  society  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replies,  "too  much  anxiety." 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  that  bill,"  he  says,  cheerily. 
"It'll  be  all  right,  anyway." 

To  this  she  murmurs:  "  If  you  say  so,  it  must  be  all 
right,"  and  is  very  kind  to  him  as  he  takes  her  home, 
permitting  him  one  kiss  in  the  carriage  and  an  extra 
bonne  bouche  as  he  bids  her  good  night. 

As  for  Guernsey,  he  is  in  high  spirits,  so  much  so 


221  HER   SENATOR. 

that  this  lady,  who  imagines  she  has  got  to  reading  her 
man  quite  well,  remarks:  "What  makes  you  so 
happy? " 

"Well,  I  don't  suppose  its  right  to  oe  elated  at  other 
people's  misfortunes,"  replies  the  statesman,  "but I've 
just  received  a  telegram  that  the  Silveropolis  Buzzard 
has  been  busted  in  business  and  seized  by  the  sheriff; 
and  as  that  journal  has  been  giving  me  particular  fits 
for  the  last  few  weeks,  it  has  not  made  me  cry.  Be- 
sides, this  miserable  revenue  bill  comes  up  for  vote  to- 
morrow night.  It's  a  thing  that  has  bothered  every- 
body, and  me  in  particular,  and  with  that  off  my 
mind,  I'll  take  time  to  attend  to  a  little  private  love 
affair 'of  mine." 

With  these  curious  words  on  his  lips  he  goes  reluc- 
tantly away,  favoring  Evelyn  with  a  look  that  makes 
her,  from  the  roots  of  her  golden  hair  to  her  ivory 
neck,  one  living  blush. 

His  words  have  set  her  brain  at  work,  and,  as  his 
steps  die  away,  she  thinks:  "  That  means  that  villain 
will  expect  his  answer  soon  ";  then  sneers:  "  He's  a 
rather  slow  man  for  a  senator — hasn't  been  on  a  spree 
since  he  came  to  Washington !"  Next  mutters,  with 
blazing  eyes:  "  Does  he  mean  his  first  spree  shall  be 
with  me  ?  Wait  till  I  have  your  vote,  you  dastard ! 
Then,  if  you  speak  of  love  to  me,  I  will  destroy  you!" 

A  minute  after  she  shudders:  "It  is  only  a  day 
more.  If  I  can  keep  Claude  from  bringing  destruction 
on  me  I  shall  win.  But  he  is  certain  to  discover  my 
address,  certain  to  come  walk'ng  in  upon  me,  per- 
chance to  my  undoing,  to-morrow.  It  all  hangs  on 
twenty-four  hours  I'1 


HER  SENATOR  223 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IF  I  SAY   "  AYE,"  WILL  YOU  SAY  AYE  ? 

IN  this  she  is  perfectly  right.  Claude  is  already  on 
her  track.  As  soon  as  he  has  been  able  to  wash  off  his 
make-up  and  get  into  the  clothes  of  every-day  life  he 
has  rushed  to  the  front  of  the  theater,  but  finding  that 
the  audience  have  all  drifted  away  has  muttered 
mournfully  to  himself:  "  Yes,  I  can  trust  her  never  to 
come  to  the  theater  this  week,"  then  whines:  "What 
if  she's  only  a  transient  in  town — if  I  can't  find  her 
to  demand  another  fifty  ?  She  should  pay  me  alimony 
or  he  should  pay  me  alimony,  somebody  should  pay  me 
alimony  !  Rolling  in  wealth  and  I  working!" 

But  the  next  day,  putting  his  wits  in  action,  Mr. 
Montressor  goes  down  to  the  theatre  early  and  inquires 
at  the  box-office  who  held  stage  box  A  the  preceding 
night,  and  is  informed  by  the  treasurer  that  he  thinks 
it  was  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey.  "Who- 
ever it  was,  he  had  a  stunning  woman  on  his  arm  when 
he  came  in,  '  remarks  the  box-office  official. 

"In  pale  green,  with  a  white  opera  bonnet  and  pink 
roses  ? "  queries  Claude,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  you're  about  right,"  replies  the 
treasurer,  "  but  I  have'nt  the  eye  for  feminine  toilettes 
that  you  chaps  on  the  stage  have.  To  me,  she  looked 
green  and  golden  and  shining." 

But  the  description  is  near  enough  for  the  second 
tenor,  and  the  whereabouts  of  the  Honorable  James  B. 
Guernsey  are  very  easy  to  discover.  He  soon  finds 
that  the  latter's  address  is  Chamberlin's,  and  murmurs 
to  himself:  "  I'll  tackle  him  first,  he'll  bleed  easier.  1 
won't  be  robbed  of  my  wife  for  nothing." 


a  24  HER  SENATOR. 

But  though  Guernsey's  address  is  easy  to  discover, 
the  statesman  himself  is  not  easily  located.  He  is  a 
very  busy  man  and  has  spent  all  his  time  in  a  Senate 
Committee  room  where  refreshments  are  sent  in  to 
him  from  the  Congressional  restaurant.  So  Claude 
is  compelled  to  content  himself  with  loitering  in  the 
vicinity  of  Mr.  Chamberlin's  hostelry  and  would  un- 
doubtedly encounter  the  Senator  when  he  returned  to 
dinner  in  the  evening  did  not  a  lady  sitting  in  the  res- 
taurant and  waiting  anxiously  to  see  that  same  gentle- 
man, chance  to  put  eyes  upon  the  second  tenor  as  he 
lounges  about. 

"Why  is  Claude  here?"  she  thinks  with  a  shud- 
der. "  Good  Heavens!  can  it  be  to  meet  Mr.  Guern- 
sey ?"  And  knowing  this  must  be  stopped  at  any  cost, 
and  being  a  woman  who  meets  emergencies  very 
promptly  and  scientifically,  Evelyn  steps  out  to  the 
Thespian  and  lifting  her  veil  remarks:  "  Mr.  Montres- 
sor,  I  believe  ?" 

"  By  Jove,  Evie,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  every- 
where. I  came  here  to  see " 

"Not  me!"  she  returns  coldly,  "I  don't  live 
here,"  then  adds  sternly:  "You  are  at  his  hotel  to 
see  the  gentleman  that  was  with  me  at  the  theatre 
last  evening,"  next  remarks  menacingly:  "If  you 
approach  him  in  any  way  you  shall  suffer  for  it— in 
your  pocket !  " 

"  How  dare  you  threaten  me  in  such  a  way  ?  "  whis- 
pers Claude,  then  goes  on  reproachfully:  "I  who 
would  have  shared  your  last  crust  with  you." 

"Yes,  my  last  crust;  that's  what  you  want  to  share 
now.  But  if  you  wish  to  get  some  of  my  bread  and 
butter,  and  perchance  some  of  my  cake,  you'll  listen 
to  my  words — not  here,  but  at  my  house.  Call  on 
me  at  seven  o'clock  this  evening.  Then  I  will  speak 
to  you.  This  interview  cannot  be  continued  further 


HER   SENATOR.  225 

nere,  out  remember  no  word  to  this  gentleman  you 
have  called  to  see  in  my  behalf,"  she  sneers.  "At 
seven  o'clock — do  you  promise  ?  Here  is  my  address." 

Thus  commanded,  Mr.  Montressor  gives  the  neces- 
sary assurance  and  goes  away  shrewdly  cogitating: 
"  If  she  doesn't  treat  me  properly  I  can  always  go  to  him 
afterwards. " 

From  this  interview  Evelyn  is  driving  away  shudder- 
ing: "That  was  a  narrow  chance !"  Then  she  mur- 
murs as  if  astounded :  "And  I  never  thought  Claude 
had  brains  enough  for  that!  " 

A  moment  later  she  thinks,  analyzing  the  affair:  "  I 
have  given  him  the  right  hour.  At  seven  Mr.  Guern- 
sey will  be  dining.  I  can  finish  with  Claude  in  thirty 
minutes.  Then  I  shall  be  free  to  gain  Guernsey's  vote. 
It's  my  last  chance  for  it!  I  must  have  it..  For  my 
interview  with  my  statesman  I  must  have  the  arts  and 
beauty  of  even  a  Cleopatra." 

Therefore  arriving  at  her  flat,  she  pens  a  few  hasty 
words  to  the  Senator  asking  him  to  kindly  visit  her 
after  his  dinner  and  before  he  goes  to  the  Senate — about 
half-past  eight  o  clock. 

This  being  finished,  at  5  p.  M.  she  takes  a  light  din- 
ner— for  she  wishes  her  brain  to  be  as  bright  and  viva- 
cious as  electricity  itself,  and  her  command  of  herself, 
in  thought,  in  word,  even  in  sentiment  and  passion,  to 
be  as  complete  as  a  fencer  should  have  over  nerves  and 
muscles  when  engaged  in  a  duel  to  the  death. 

Her  duenna,  Evie  is  delighted  to  learn,  has  an  en- 
gagement that  will  occupy  her  at  some  embassy  enter- 
tainment until  late  in  the  night.  Senora  de  Oriva  is 
going  with  some  Spanish  friends.  Mrs.  Montressor 
hurries  her  off  to  them,  and  from  now  on  devotes  her- 
self to  making  a  toilette  that  shall  charm  the  very 
senses  out  of  the  law-maker. 

Thus  being  prepared  to  enchant  and  allure  man,  she 


226  HER  SENATOR. 

makes  a  superb  picture  in  her  little  parlor,  awaiting  the 
coming  of  Mr.  Montressor. 

With  her  ex-husband  she  will  have  a  monetary  affair; 
it  will  probably  last  about  ten  minutes.  She  is  confident 
Claude  must  be  there  sharp  at  the  hour  named,  for  he 
performs  this  evening.  But  in  this  she  is  mistaken. 
The  Lucile  Jervaise  Company  plays  another  piece  in 
its  repertoire  this  night,  and  Mr.  Montressor,  as  second 
tenor,  is  only  cast  for  a  minor  role  in  the  third  act. 
Consequently,  as  actors  almost  invariably  are  behind 
time  in  any  appointment  of  their  lives,  this  gentleman 
does  not  come  at  seven. 

She  glances  again  and  again  at  the  ormolu  clock  as 
it  ticks  on  her  onyx  [mantelpiece,  and  mutters  anx- 
iously: "What  detains  him?  If  he  does  not  come 
until  Mr.  Guernsey!"  and  mocks  herself,  murmuring: 
"Fool!  Did  Claude  ever  come  on  time  to  any 
appointment  ?  Why  he  was  even  late  at  our 
wedding.  Dolt  that  I  was  not  to  place  more  time 
between  these  interviews,"  and  nervously  plucks  at 
the  lace  thing  she  calls  a  handkerchief  lying  in  her  lap. 

But  just  here  she  starts  with  sudden  joy;  there  is 
a  ring  at  the  front  door. 

No  card  is  brought  to  her,  for  she  has  instructed 
Pythagoras  to  immediately  admit  the  gentleman.  So 
rising  to  receive  Claude  Montressor  and  give  him  his 
congt  and  a  check  as  quickly  as  possible,  Evie  suddenly 
emits  a  little  startled  'cry  as,  instead  of  her  ex-hus- 
band, comes  in  to  her  with  naming  eyes  and  crazy 
Spanish  manner,  Gonzalo  de  Oriva,  who  is  here  to 
rescue  her  from  the  endearments  of  the  Scnador  from 
the  Occidente. 

He  is  in  full  evening  dress  with  perfumed  hair  and 
waxed  mustachios  for  the  enchanting  of  his  lady-love; 
but  he  stares  astonished,  for  even  in  his  dreams  Evelyn 
Montressor  had  never  seemed  so  beautiful,  as  she  stands 


HER   SENATOR.  227 

beneath  the  soft  lamplight  in  an  evening  toilet  that 
makes  her  seem  a  fairy  in  lithe  grace  and  airy  pose, 
though  her  exquisite  form  is  rounded  and  adorned  with 
every  contour  that  gives  loveliness  to  woman — ivory 
shoulders,  polished  arms,  fair  neck  and  rounded  bust, 
gleaming  and  dazzling;  one  little  foot  in  Cinderella 
slipper  and  silken  webbed  hosiery  advanced  to  meet  him. 

Even  as  he  gazes  Gonzalo  gives  a  cry  of  Spanish  love 
and  with  the  mad  impetuosity  of  the  Latin  murmurs, 
"  Querida  mia!  "  His  eyes  blaze  as  they  devour  her 
loveliness,  and  throwing  himself  prostrate  at  her  feet  and 
embracing  her  knees  he  murmurs  hoarsely,  "At  last!  " 

To  this  wild  attack  she  gives  answer  in  a  little 
scream,  and  for  a  second  is  overcome  with  astonish- 
ment and  consternation.  The  next,  sweeping  her 
laces  and  satins  from  his  grasp,  she  stands  coldly  over 
him,  and,  gazing  haughtily  in  his  upturned,  pleading, 
dark  eyes,  sneers :  ' '  What  brings  you  here  ?  I  thought, 
Senor  de  Oriva,  you  were  boiling  gelatine." 

"  Bah!  "  he  mutters,  rising  to  his  feet;  then  goes  on 
sardonically  and  impetuously:  "  For  you  I  have  given 
up  gelatine,  I  have  given  up  boiling!  I  boil  no  more 
except  with  love  and  hate,  love  for  you,  mi  amadora — 
hate  for  him!"  And  he  would  get  his  arm  about  her 
alluring  waist,  but  her  face  forbids  him,  as  she  falters 
with  white  lips: 

"  Hate  for  whom?  " 

"  For  your  lover.  Santos !  don't  deny  it!  "  he  breaks 
out.  "Last  night  at  the  theatre  I  saw  his  glances  on 
you.  At  Narragansett  you  favored  him,  but  here  I 
know  by  my  mother's  letters  that  you  love  him  no 
more.  His  persecutions  have  made  you  pale,  <&//>«/«?,  but 
thank  the  Virgin,  not  emaciated !  Each  night  you  pray 
to  the  devil.  I  have  come  to  rescue  you  from  him,  to 
th  -ow  my  glove  in  his  face,  to  say  to  him :  *  No  more ! — 
not  another  word  to  her,  for  I,  Gonzalo,  the  Spaniard, 


228  HER  SENATOR. 

stand  between ! '  I,  who  have  eaten  my  heart  out  fof 
you  these  three  months  while  I  boiled !  But  I  have  suf- 
ficient money  now  for  two  months  to  make  protesta- 
tions to  you.  For  that  time  I  live  only  at  your  side.  Be 
happy,  do  not  fear,  I  live  only  at  your  side !  " 

And  he  would  go  on  in  this  crazy  Latin  fashion,  for 
Evie's  unearthly  beauty  has  maddened  the  fiery  Spaniard 
and  made  his  blood  boil  stronger  than  he  had  ever 
made  gelatine  boil,  did  not,  at  this  moment,  Pythag- 
oras gives  several  smart  knocks  at  the  door. 

"Come  in!"  cries  Evie,  desperately,  giving  Gonzalo 
a  look  that  compels  him  to  speak  only  with  his  eyes. 
Then,  a  card  being  brought  to  her,  she  whispers  to  the 
Spaniard  words  that  make  him  ecstatic,  for  she  says: 
"Step  into  my  boudoir,"  opening  the  hangings  for 
him,  "this  gentleman  will  detain  me  only  a  few  min- 
utes. " 

' '  You  put  me  off  for  this  Guernsey  ? "  he  mutters 
through  grinding  teeth. 

"Not  for  him!  a — a  gentleman  on  business.  Don't  act 
like  a  madman  or  I  shall  hate  you.  Be  quiet  and  I 
shall — "  This  last  is  emphasized  by  a  glance  that 
makes  his  blood  boil. 

"You  will  loave  me?"  he  whispers;  his  big  eyes 
lighting  with  torrid  passion.  "Loave  me,  Querida 
mia  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  she  says,  archly,  for  she  sees  that  in  his 
present  mood  Gonzalo  de  Oriva  must  be  humored,  not 
snubbed. 

"Then  I  obey;  my  life  is  yours!"  murmurs  the 
Spaniard  as  he  slips  through  the  open  portieres;  but 
as  she  closes  the  curtains  she  gives  a  little  gasp 
of  dismay,  for  the  impetuous  Oriva  has  caught  her 
white  hand  and  drawn  it  in  to  him,  and  even  whils 
Claude  is  shown  into  the  room  she  feels  the  satin  skit 
of  her  bare  arm,  from  gleaming  shoulder  to  ivory 


HER  SENATOR  2«9 

wrist,   covered  with  kisses  by  the  ecstatic  Spaniard. 

"  Evie,  old  girl,  won't  you  give  me  your  hand?" 
says  Mr.  Montressor  in  a  wounded  voice,  who  has 
come  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  extending  his. 

"  Not  at  present,  sir!"  returns  Evelyn  sternly,  yet 
struggling  with  an  insane  desire  to  laugh ;  for  at  this 
moment  Gonzalo  is  again  lavishing  impassioned  ca- 
resses upon  the  imprisoned  member. 

Then  with  a  quick,  energetic  jerk  she  plucks  her 
hand  from  the  impetuous  Spaniard,  closes  the  door  of 
her  boudoir  and  locks  it,  and,  coming  to  the  center  of 
the  room,  where  her  ex-husband  is  standing,  dazed 
with  the  luxury  of  the  apartment,  murmurs:  "You 
can  now  have  my  hand,  Claude,  if  you  will  be  a  very 
good  boy  and  speak  low.  People  may  hear  you. " 

"Yes,  I  see  he's  in  there,"  remarks  Montressor 
grimly.  "  That's  why  you  locked  the  door." 

"Nonsense,"  she  says;  then  whispers:  "Come  to 
business.  You  wish  my  financial  aid,  I  presume.  But 
let  me  tell  you  I  am  very  poor." 

"  Poor  !  in  this  apartment  ?  Poor  /  you  drive  a  car- 
riage. POOR  !  God  help  me  !  then  what  am  I  ?  " 

"  Poor  in  money,  and  if  you  don't  heed  my  words, 
poorer  than  ever  after  to-night,"  she  falters  appeal- 
ingly;  then  adds  hurriedly:  "  I  have  drawn  a  check  for 
two  hundred  dollars.  It  is  half  of  what  I  have  in  the 
bank.  For  that  will  you  go  away  for  two  months  and 
never  come  near  me  ?  Promise  me,  I  beg  you.  Swear 
it!  Perchance  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  may  be  rich. 
I  have  always  been  generous  to  you,  am  generous  now 
even  permitting  you  to  visit  me — you  who  have  no 
legal  right  to  come  near  me,  not  even  the  right  of 
friendship." 

But  to  her  dismay  and  horror  Claude,  who  has  a 
stagey  way  of  doing  things,  seizes  the  check,  tears  it 
into  little  bits  and  grinds  it  under  his  heel  snarling: 


230  HER  SENATOR. 

"You  offer  me  money  when  I  offer  you  love /"  For  her 
ethereal  beauty  has  maddened  him  also.  She  is  more 
lovely,  he  thinks,  than  even  when  she  stood  by  his  side 
his  blushing  bride.  She  is  more  adorable  now  that 
he  has  lost  her,  than  when  she  was  his  ;  for  Claude 
Montressor  always  values  most  the  things  he  has  not. 

So  to-night  in  making  this  toilette  for  the  ravishing 
of  the  senses  of  the  Honorable  James  B.  Guernsey, 
Evelyn  has  made  herself  too  beautiful.  She  has 
entranced  Gonzalo,  the  Spaniard,  until  he  is  as  a  wild 
man  in  the  next  room  ;  she  now  enchants  her  ex- 
husband  until  in  his  frenzy  this  man  who  has  come  for 
money  will  give  up  all  else — save  passion. 

For  he  breaks  out  at  her  with  theatric  gesture:  "I 
deny  that  you  have  the  legal  right  to  separate  yourself 
from  me.  No  court  shall  divorce  what  God  has  joined! 
As  to  marriage  I  am  a  CATHOLIC.  The  State  cannot 
sever  the  bonds  of  Mother  Church !  I  am  a  CATHOLIC 
husband,  I  shall  never  give  you  up!  To-day,  even  in 
my  own  home,"  he  makes  the  magnificent  apartment  his 
domicile  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  "  I  take  my  stand  for 
ever!  Your  lover  shall  deal  with  me,  the  outraged 
husband  of  the  Roman  Church.  I  shall  demand  from 
him  not  his  money  but  your  love.  Then,  when  he  has 
slunk  out  of  yonder  door,  I  shall  turn  to  you  and 
whisper,  '  To  my  arms,  quick ! '  and  if  you  love  me 
very  much,  by  Jove  !  I  may  forgive  you,  unhappy 
woman!  " 

At  this  melodramatic  rhapsody  Evie  gazes  too  aston- 
ished for  one  moment  to  speak,  half  inclined  to  laugh, 
half  thinking  him  crazy.  But  crazy  or  not,  this 
Spaniard  and  this  divorce1  will  ruin  her  if  Guernsey  sees 
them  before  he  gives  his  vote.  Of  this  one  thing  she 
is  certain. 

Then  with  a  sudden  flash  that  wondrous  intelligence 
that  deitate  instinct  that  in  feminine  brains  beats  all 


HER   SENATOR.  23! 

tne  logic  of  this  world,  and  in  supreme  crises  often 
steals  victory  from  defeat,  whispers  in  her  mind: 
"Match  this  crazy  Spaniard  against  thy  stagey  ex- 
husband  !" 

So,  rising  to  the  emergency  and  playing  Eve  for 
his  undoing,  she  whispers:  "Claude,  you  will  expel 
from  this  house  my  lover.  That,  I  believe,  is  the  name 
by  which  you  dignify  him  and  insult  me.  Go  into  that 
room,  meet  him  there,  kick  him  from  the  house;  I 
give  you  leave.  For  now,  since  I  have  seen  you,  mem- 
ory comes  back  to  me,  and  I "  She  checks  her- 
self, holding  her  handkerchief  to  her  fair  face,  that  is 
writhing  with  suppressed  laughter. 

"  You  love  me  ?  God  bless  you,  you  darling  wifey ; 
you  love  me  ?"  he  mutters;  and,  gazing  on  her  superb 
beauty,  smites  her  with  blushing  rage  as  he  adds,  in 
caddish  complacency:  "Good  God,  Evie!  I  didn't 
think  you  were  so  catchy.  It's  all  of  ten  months 
since  you  have  caressed  me." 

And  she,  snarling  in  her  heart,  "You  coward,  to 
remind  me  !  "  forces  herself  to  coquettish  witchery  and 
murmurs:  "  Get  my  admirer  out  quick,  Claude." 

' '  Won't  I  ?"  he  whispers.  ' '  Out  he  goes,  out  he  goes, 
and  when  I  come  back " 

Here  his  eyes  look  on  her  until  she  shudders:  "I 
hope  the  Cuban  kills  him." 

Unlocking  the  door  and  drawing  the  portieres  apart, 
Claude  Montressor  with  the  easy  assurance  of  a  hus- 
band in  his  own  home,  strides  into  the  next  apartment 
and  confronting  Gonzalo,  the  Spaniard,  says  in  a  "my 
house  is  my  castle  "  voice  :  "  May  I  inquire,  sir,  by 
what  right  you  enter  my  flat  and  make  yourself  at 
home  in  my  wife's  boudoir  ? " 

"Your  wife s  boudoir!"  shrieks  Gonzalo  as  he 
springs  to  his  feet. 

"Certainly,  my  wife,   Mrs,  Evelyn  Montressor.     I 


23*  HER   SENATOR.  i 

am  Mr.  Montressor.  Permit  me,"  and  Claude  hands 
the  astounded  Spaniard  his  card. 

Then  to  Evie's  ears  come  these  words,  in  quick  suc- 
cession and  excited  voices: 

' '  Your  wife !     Caramba  !     She  is  a  widow  !  " 

"  Hang  me,  who  are  you,  Spaniard?  I  thought  you 
were  Guernsey." 

"  Diablo  !     I  am  the  man  who  lores  your  wife!  " 

"Oho!  then  there  are  two  of  you,  are  there?  So 
his  nibs  has  a  rival." 

"  Santos y  demonios !     I  demand  to  see  her!  " 

"My  wife?  I  have  sent  her  to  her  room,"  comes 
through  the  portieres  in  Claude's  easy  and  most  de- 
bonair voice.  Then  Evie  bites  her  lips  as  she  hears 
her  ex-husband  sneer:  "I  had  no  idea  Mrs.  Mon- 
tressor had  been  running  such  a  pace  in  my  ab- 
sence. But  now  I  am  at  home  again  I  shall  keep  her 
in  the  traces,  I  warrant  you.  I  came  here  to  throw 
out  Guernsey,  but  you'll  do  just  as  well.  Out  you  go !  " 

"  Not  until  I  have  spoken . " 

"To  my  wife?  Impossible!  Stop  grinding  your 
damned  teeth  at  me.  Since  fair  means  won't  do,  I'll  try 
foul.  See  this  fist,  Spaniard  ?  " 

On  this  scene  Evie  gazes  through  the  portieres  and, 
though  she  almost  feels  it  is  the  crisis  of  her  life, 
laughs  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  But,  over  her 
shoulder  there  is  sound  of  the  heavy  breathing  of  a 
man  in  agony,  and  looking  up  she  knows  it  is  the  crisis 
of  her  life,  for  she  sees  the  ashen  face  of  the  Honorable 
James  B.  Guernsey,  who,  with  twitching  lips  is  mut- 
tering hoarsely:  "Hiszw/V/  He  says — you  are — HIS 
WIFE  !  " 

Then  come  to  them,  Spanish  execrations  and  a  crash- 
ing sound  mingled  with  a  cry :  "  A  cuchilla  !  " 

With  strong  arm  and  quick  step,  Guernsey  pushes 
past  her  and  is  just  in  time;  for  Gonzalo  is  rising  from 


HER  SENATOR.  «33 

a  knock-down  blow  and  has  death  ana  vengeance  in  his 
eye,  and  a  long  glittering  dagger  in  his  hand.  Even 
before  Evie  can  speak  the  Western  man  has  struck  the 
knife  from  the  Spaniard's  hand,  and  with  a  muttered, 
"You  murdering  varmint  !"  has  hustled  the  amorous 
Gonzalo  into  the  hall  and  propelled  him  out  of  the 
front  door,  which  he  closes  with  a  bang. 

Returning  from  this,  Guernsey  steps  up  to  the 
astounded  Claude  and  says  huskily,  "You  called  your- 
self this  lady's  husband,  sir  !  Have  you  a  better  right 
here  than  I  ? " 

"  Before  God  I  am  her  husband." 

"  Ah !  "  falters  the  Senator.  "  I  remember  you  now 
at  the  theater."  Then  he  turns  his  stricken  eyes 
upon  the  beautiful  creature  who  stands  with  throbbing 
bosom  gazing  spellbound  at  the  two  men,  and  sud- 
denly murmurs  in  horrified  reproach:  "By  heavens,  it 
was  the  sight  of  him  that  disconcerted  you ;  that's  why 
you  dropped  your  playbill  on  the  stage;  that's  why 
you  said  his  infernal  singing  grated  on  your  ears. 
Madame,  I  take  my  leave !  " 

But  she  is  between  him  and  the  door,  muttering 
hoarsely:  "Before  God  that  dastard  lies!  I  am  no 
man's  wife !  He  has  no  right  here  in  my  home !  " 

"Then,  sir,"  says  the  Senator  sternly,  turning  to 
Claude,  "since  this  lady  says  you  are  a  liar,  it  is  you 
who  must  take  your  leave — QUICK!  " 

"I  ?  Never,  you  hoary-headed  libertine!"  mutters 
Claude  in  his  strongest  stage  voice.  But  Mr.  Mon- 
tressor  has  forgotten  the  rapid  exit  of  the  Spaniard. 
Stage  muscles  are  not  the  muscles  of  the  Rockies, 
and  Claude  goes  out  even  quicker  than  Gonzalo,  get- 
ting two  savage  salutes  as  he  leaves  the  front  door. 

Returning  from  this,  Guernsey  meets  a  woman  who 
is  gazing  at  him  with  a  strange  admiration  in  her  eyes; 
for  the  Senator  has  a,  breezy  Western  way  of  doing 


234  HER   SENATOP 

things,  and  he  has  kicked  out  Claude  Montressor  in 
even  better  shape  than  he  did  Gonzalo,  the  Spaniard. 

To  her  he  mutters:  "Tell  me  all  about  that  man 
who — who  called  you — his  wife;"  then  adds,  warn- 
ingly:  "And  by  the  Eternal,  let  it  be  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so  God  help  us 
both!" 

Looking  at  him,  Evie  knows  it  must  be  the  truth 
now,  all  of  it,  as  regards  Claude  Montressor,  and  whis- 
pers, "  I  was  his  wife." 

"My  God!" 

"  I  am  his  wife  no  more.  I  am  his  divorced  widow, 
legally,  solemnly,  by  the  laws  of  New  York — for  his 
sins,  not  for  mine.  See,  this  will  prove  I  tell  you  the 
living  truth !"  For,  at  her  words,  Guernsey  has  faltered 
and  sunk  down  upon  a  chair  and  turned  his  eyes  un- 
compromisingly from  her. 

In  a  trice  she  has  flown  to  her  desk  and  a  moment 
later  the  Senator  finds  himself  reading  with  glistening 
eyes  the  decree  of  divorce  in  all  its  legal  formula  that 
makes  Evelyn  Montressor  a  free  woman. 

"  So  the  scalawag  treated  you  badly  ?"  he  mutters. 

"Listen!"  answers  Evie,  and  with  every  art  that 
can  bring  man's  sympathy  she  tells  him  of  her  short, 
unhappy  married  life,  ending:  "I  supported  him. 
With  my  voice  I  sung  the  bread  into  his  mouth  and  he 
used  even  the  money  of  my  labor  to  lavish  upon  those 
who  made  him  untrue  to  me." 

Then  Guernsey  astonishes  yet  relieves  her,  for  he 
says  in  businesslike  voice:  "Well,  this  paper  proves 
you  are  quit  of  him  for  good;"  adding  grimly  "  Mr. 
Claude  came  here,  I  suppose,  to  levy  an  assessment  ?" 

"Yes,  but  when  he  saw  me,  he — he  forgot  that  he 
had  come  here  for  money,"  stammers  Evie,  growing 
embarrassed  and  blushing  under  the  senator's  gaze. 

For  that  gentleman  looking  on  her  mutters  '  'Humph ! 


HER  SENATOR.  235 

No  Qoubt.  I  think  I  understand!  "  and  his  eyes  em- 
phasize  his  words. 

"Yes,  I  offered  him  half  the  money  1  have  in  the 
world  if  he  would  but  go  away  and  leave  me.  Not 
that  he  has  any  right  to  it,  but  I — I  couldn't  bear  that 
you  should  imagine  that  I  had  perhaps  deceived  you  in — 
in  permitting  you  to  think  my  husband  was  dead,  not 
divorced. "  Then  she  adds  appealingly,  "  Now  you  will 
never  think  well  of  me  again!  " 

"Won't  I?"  says  the  Senator  cheerily,  looking 
on  her  radiant  loveliness,  for  Evie  is  regaining  her 
spirits  and  her  arch  witchery  is  returning  to  her, 
and  she  is  playing  this  scene  very  well,  giving  the 
gentleman  some  tender  glances  that  make  his  big 
heart  thump. 

But  the  Westerner  goes  on  in  businesslike  voice: 
"That  was  quite  a  little  sum  of  money  you  offered 
him  ? " 

"No,  only  two  hundred  dollars!" 

"What!  two  hundred  dollars,  half  the  money  you 
have,  when  I  sold  your  Gelatine  out  for  you  ?" 

"You  thought  you  did,"  she  falters.  "I  directed 
them  to  hold  it.  Every  share  of  it  is  now  at  my 
brokers,  and  to-night  I  see  I  am  going  to  be  very 
poor.  From  your  face,  I  see  it !  "  For  Guernsey's  jaw 
has  fallen  at  her  words,  and  he  is  looking  at  the  bust 
of  Daniel  Webster  to  avoid  her  pleading  eyes. 

"You  are  going  to  vote  against  the  bill — I  know  it!" 
she  cries.  "  I  know  it  by  the  way  you  gaze  at  that 
dead  statesman's  face  and  try  to  think  yourself  a 
patriot.  You  have  deceived  me!  " 

"I?     Great  Scotti  how?" 

"  Because  you  said  you  had  read  the  statistics,  and 
that  gelatine  was  cheaper  now  to  the  people  of  the  United 
States  than  ever  in  the  history  of  the  world.  I  heard 
you  say  that,  I  believed  you  would  vote  as  you  spoke— 


236  HER   SENATOR. 

I  trusted  in  you,  and  am  betrayed."  Then  she  breaks 
out  with  woman's  logic:  "  You  have  not  the  right  to 
speak  one  way  and  vote  another." 

"Curse  it,  madame,"  he  says  savagely,  for  her  ap- 
peals make  him  angry,  "a  Senator  of  the  United  States 
has  a  right  to  vote  any  way  he  pleases. " 

"Very  well,  go  away  from  me — punish  me,  if  you 
like,  because  I  have  a  living  husband,"  she  murmurs  in 
broken  voice*  then  places  hand  upon  his  arm  and  turns 
eyes  of  such  witchery  upon  him  in  their  beseeching 
beauty  that  the  Solon's  heart  beats  very  hard,  as  he 
fears  if  he  destroys  her  fortune  she  may  revenge  her- 
self upon  his  love.  This  weakness  he  struggles  against, 
turning  his  head  desperately  away  from  the  charm  of 
her  pathetic  face  toward  the  bust  of  the  statesman.  If 
he  looks  upon  her  loveliness  he  may  succumb. 

And  she,  mistaking  his  motive,  jeers  him  for  one 
instant,  laughing:  "That's  right!  Seek  your  inspira- 
tion from  Daniel  Webster  up  there,  turn  from  my 
agony  to  his  imperturbability.  See  if  bronze  is  as 
grateful  to  you  as  living  flesh  and  blood !"  then  adds 
brokenly:  "Good  night!  Go  to  your  duties,  Mister 
Senator,"  and,  turning  away  from  him,  passes  the 
portieres  to  her  boudoir. 

Then,  from  out  the  curtains  Guernsey  hears  those 
sounds  that  always  call  manhood  to  the  side  of  suffer- 
ing, sobbing  beauty. 

"Poor  little  darling,"  he  mutters.  "What  a  cursed 
brute  I've  been!  " 

And  in  one  second  he  is  after  her,  and  laying  hand 
upon  her  white  shoulder,  whispers:  "  Going  away  in  a 
huff,  without  a  kiss  foi  Evie's  Senator  ?  Look  here, 
little  girl,  let's  discuss  this  matter  without  Dan  Web- 
ster coming  in  between  us." 

And  before  Evelyn  knows  just  what  takes  place  she 
finds  herself  sitting  on  his  knee,  and  he  stroking  hw 


HER   SENATOR.  237 

hair  and  saying:  "  Let's  discuss  tkis  matter  quietly, 
calmly — sit  still,  won't  you?" 

"  How  can  I  be  calm  when  after  to-night  I  shall  not 
have  a  roof  over  my  head,  that  one  word  from  your 
lips  might  save  forme?  I  wouldn't  have  held  the  stock 
if  I  hadn't  heard  you  indicate  you  meant  to  vote  for 
the  Gelatine  schedule.  Now  I — "  she  is  very  desperate 
here,  she  will  carry  her  point — "shall  go  away  from 
Washington,  for  I  cannot  afford  to  live  in  this  luxury. 
I  must  earn  my  bread." 

"How?" 

" By  going  on  the  stage!  " 

"The — the  opera-bouffe  stage?"  he  falters. 

"Yes,  the  opera-bouffe  stage!  I  can  make  my  liv- 
ing at  that;  I  have  had  offers;  you  have  heard  me 
sing." 

"What!  go  on  like  that  prima  donna  I  saw  last 
night;  perchance,  good  gosh,  in  tights?  mutters  the 
statesman,  horrified;  "the  eyes  of  a  thousand  men 
looking  at  your  beauty.  By  Heavens!  I  will  not  per- 
mit it." 

"  How  can  you  prevent  it  ?" 

•JHow?  By  voting  so  you  won't  hate  me  for 
impoverishing  you."  Then  his  eyes  light  up  with 
desperate  passion,  for  the  beauty  of  the  exquisite 
creature  whose  fair  form  rests  against  his,  whose 
white  arm  is  even  now  around  his  neck,  whose  sapphire 
eyes  are  gazing  into  his,  maddens  him,  and  he  mutters 
hoarsely:  "  If  I  say  'aye,'  in  the  Senate  Chamber  to- 
night, will  you  say  'aye,'  to  the  question  I  ask  of  you 
when  I  return  from  it?  " 

"Yes!"  she  whispers,  feeling  that  she  has  now 
indeed  burnt  ships  and  bridges  behind  her. 

"  Then  swear  to  it !  "  he  continues  solemnly.  "  If  I 
say  'aye '  to  the  gelatine  duties,  that  you  say  '  aye  '  to 
what  I  ask  you?  " 


3$S  HER  SENATOR. 

"  I  swear  it! "  she  whispers  desperately,  and  her  eyes 
blaze  in  triumph  for  she  knows  she  has  delivered  "the 
goods." 

But  even  as  she  speaks,  she  shudders  at  the  price  she 
is  paying  for  this  man's  vote.  But  she  won't  think  of 
that — thought  means  repentance;  she  goes  on  with 
excited  rapidity :  ' '  Quick !  The  bill  will  be  coming  up 
for  vote;  do  not  let  it  lose  yours  by  your  absence. 
You  keep  your  word,  I  will  keep  mine!  By  this  kiss 
Jim,  i  WILL  KEEP  MINE!" 

What  man  could  resist  such  clinging  loveliness,  her 
heart  beating  against  his,  her  witching  voice  pleading 
to  his  ear,  her  glorious  eyes  burning  up  his  soul?  Not 
a  great  big  Westerner,  with  his  best  girl's  head  upon 
his  breast. 

"It's  a  bargain,  Evie!"  he  mutters,  "  By  this  kiss  it's 
a  bargain!" 

Then  going  out  from  her  he  communes  with  himself 
even  as  he  drives  down  Connecticut  Avenue  en  route 
for  the  Capitol :  ' '  Hang  me  if  I'll  be  able  to  look  people 
in  the  face  after  this  vote,"  but  a  moment  after  thinks 
complacently:  Yes,  I  will!  The  gelatine  duties  are  all 
right.  Gelatine  is  cheaper  than  ever.  It's  a  good  thing 
for  the  country!  To-night  I  and  a  majority  of  the 
Senate  will  say  so — and  who  the  dickens  will  dare  to 
contradict  us  ?  Besides,  I  love  her  too  well  to  lose  her 
for  half  a  cent  a  pound  on  imported  gelatine." 

And  as  Doc  Guernsey  reasons  so  do  many  other  of 
his  brother  lawmakers  of  the  nation  this  night,  upon 
which  the  vote  on  the  Gelatine  schedule  comes  up  be- 
fore the  Senate  of  the  United  States. 

When  it  is  a  question  of  a  great  monopoly  or  the 
people,  who  generally  gets  the  worst  of  it  in  the  halls 
of  legislation  ? 


HER  SENATOR.  239 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    BATTLE   FOR   THE   MAN. 

And  Evie  in  her  hour  of  victory — is  she  happy  ? 

For  one  moment,  as  Guernsey's  footsteps  die  away, 
she  is — and  whispers  with  beaming  eyes  and  glowing 
cheeks:  "I've  won  !  I've  won!  I've  WON  !  Gelatine 
will  come  flying  up.  I  am  rich  !  rich!  RICH  !  "  And 
claps  her  hands  and  dances  with  fairy  feet  in  blithe- 
some glee. 

Then  suddenly  over  her  arms,  face,  neck,  and  bosom 
comes  in  one  mighty  carmine  wave  an  awful  burning, 
blazing  blush;  and  she  falters:  "  Merciful  God  !  what 
have  I  paid  for  it  ?  If  he  says  '  aye  '  to-night  in  the 
Senate  Chamber  then  I  say  '  aye  '  to  him  afterward  in 
this  room.  My  Heaven  !  what  will  he  ask  me  ?  I 
know,  I  know!"  and  she  throws  herself  down,  careless 
of  crushing  satins  and  tearing  laces,  and  grovels  on  an 
ottoman  in  her  boudoir. 

"Yes,  that's  what  he's  going  to  ask  me.  I  know  ! 
He's  the  true  son  of  his  father  !  "  she  mutters  with  set 
teeth.  "  He  has  my  promise !  What  do  such  men  always 
demand  from  women  ?  Throw  away  that  which  you 
prize  the  most,  they  cry;  cast  down  your  virtue  if  you 
want  our  aid!  " 

Then  growing  calmer  she  sneers  at  herself:  "  Could 
I  not  have  foreseen  it  ?  Was  it  not  in  my  mind  when 
I  laughed  months  ago  and  said  I  must  have  my 
Senatoi  ?  Did  not  that  also  mean  my  Senator  would 
have  me  ?  Why  should  he  think  better  of  me  than  I  dp 
of  myself  ?  He  knows  me  now,  a  divorcee,  not  a 
widow!  Within  this  very  room  he  has  seen  the  man 
who  once  had  right  to  me. "  Then  she  laughs  sarcaf 


24<>  HER  SENATOR. 

tically,  "Shall  Jim  Guernsey  win  his  battle  because 
I  am  fool  enough  to  keep  a  bargain  that  is 
wrong  to  keep?  Pooh!  I'll  toss  his  father's  infamy 
in  his  face ! "  next  starts  up  and  mutters  fiercely : 
' '  It  is  the  descended  feud  of  the  Corsican !  His  father 
robbed  me  of  happiness  and  my  sister!  Now  I  rob 
the  son  of  his  career  and  raise  my  own  fortunes  upon 
his  downfall.  If  I  make  public  his  telegram  about 
Gelatine  stock  who  will  believe  him,  even  if  he 
make  oath !  I  have  the  right  to  hate  him.  He  must 
be  bad,  then  why  is  he  good  to  me  ?  He's  doubly 
bad.  Scoundrel  and  hypocrite  both !  Thank  God,  I 

hate  him !  hate  him  !  HATE  HIM  !  For  if  I  loved  him " 

Here  her  face  grows  dazed  with  a  new  and  incanny  ter- 
ror, and  she  sobs  out:  "Oh,  God,  not  that!  No,  no! 
That  would  be  /to  horrible!"  but  muses,  strangely: 
"  How  grand  he  was  when  he  threw  the  Spaniard 
across  the  hall !  How  big  Jim  looked  when  he  seized 
puny  Claude  and  kicked  him — yes,  I  saw  him  kick  him 
— out  of  the  front  door!  Sometimes  he  seems  to  be 
noble.  Noble  1  When  he  sells  his  vote  for  my  kisses, 

and  yet Oh,  Heaven !  how  sweet  they  are !  No, 

no!  Nonsense!  When  I  think  of  his  father,  of  course 
I  hate  him,  hate  him,  HATE  HIM!  James  Guernsey 

shall  kiss  me  no  more,  for  if  he  did Oh,  powers 

of  mercy!  if  he  did /"  And  some  weird  and  mighty 
terror  seems  to  dominate  her  now. 

So,  rending  herself  with  conflicting  passions,  Evie, 
made  beautiful  by  anguish,  lies  tossing  on  the 
ottoman. 

She  has  half  succeeded  in  forcing  herself  to  calmness 
when  there  comes  to  her  ears  the  jingle  of  her  door-bell 
and  she  springs  up,  dismay  upon  her  face,  her  hand 
clutching  her  beating  heart,  and  murmurs:  "The  vote 
is  over.  Oh,  my  soul!  Jim  Guernsey  has  come  to 
claim  his  promise,  to  get  his  price  t " 


HER  SENATOR.  24! 

But  Pythagoras,  her  black  page,  brings  in  to  her  on 
a  silver-salver  a  card.  Glancing  at  the  name,  uncer- 
tainty flies  over  her  face,  and  she  says  faintly:  "  Not 
at  home ! " 

The  next  instant  determination  takes  the  place  of 
doubt.  She  calls  the  boy  back  to  her  and  says  sternly: 
"Show  the  lady  into  the  parlor  and  tell  her  I  will  see 
her  in  a  moment ! " 

And  Evie's  face  grows  set  as  she  wonders:  "Why  is 
she  here  ?  Why  does  she  come  to  me  ?"  For  this  is 
what  she  looks  upon: 


"Is  it  because" — a  light  of  joy  comes  in  her  eyes 
— "  is  it  because  Jim  asked  her  to  come  ?  Is  he  going 
to  crush  me  with  goodness  ?  "  To  this  question  she 
answers,  wildly,  "No!  no!  He  must  be  a  villain,  he 
shall  be  a  villain.  I  want  him  to  be  a  villain !  That's 
the  only  thing  that  will  make  me  feel  that  I  am  not 
altogether  despicable.  If  he  asks  me  to  be  his  mistress 
I  shall  have  the  right  to  dispise  him,  and  yet — Heaven 
help  me !  I  have  promised  whatever  the  villain  asks. 
That's  what  he  must  be,  a  villain!  Sending  his  sister 
to  greet  the  woman  he  is  going  to  make  his  mistress. 


24*  HER  SENATOR. 

That's  the  way  they  do  it,  asking  their  wives  or  sisters 
to  meet  the  ladies  of  their  love,  to  keep  them  im- 
maculate before  the  public.  That's  the  senatorial 
way!  How  I  despise  him!  But  if  he  can  play  the 
hypocrite,  so  can  I!"  Then  she  jeers:  "  I  will  see 
Miss  Gawk  from  the  West. " 

So,  with  these  very  pleasant  sentiments  in  her 
mind,  Evelyn  Montressor,  a  supercilious  disdain  on 
her  delicate  features,  steps  into  her  parlor  to  meet 
surprise. 

She  has  had  a  few  of  them  this  evening,  but  this,  to 
use  a  Western  expression,  "takes  the  chips." 

A  bright,  dashing,  resolute  girl  rises  to  meet  her, 
an  elegance  in  her  manner  that  is  not  destroyed  by  the 
direct  frankness  of  her  hazel  eyes  that  beam  direct  and 
strong  and  look  upon  Mrs.  Montressor — perchance 
not  too  kindly. 

Were  the  young  lady  not  holding  herself  in  icy  con- 
trol she  would  be  a  picture  of  gracious  girlhood.  Her 
eyes  are  winning,  the  pose  of  her  body  is  unaffected ; 
every  movement  of  her  lithe  limbs  beneath  the  tightly- 
fitting,  tailor-made  gown  of  soft  blue,  that  has  even 
now  the  dust  of  hasty  journey  upon  it,  is  full  of  grace- 
ful activity,  mingled  with  frontier  decision.  For 
Mattie  Guernsey  is  as  breezy  as  the  Rocky  Mountain 
air  that  has  blown  her  brown  curls  about,  ever  since 
she  was  a  little  girl;  and  though  she  has  the  cultiva- 
tion of  education  and  travel,  beneath  it  is  the  strength 
of  character  that  comes  from  self-dependence,  she  hav- 
ing ridden  over  the  prairies  when  Indians  were  danger- 
ous, and  having  conquered  her  own  mustangs  and  made 
them  her  servants.  Her  frank  glance  now  is  deter- 
mined and — not  friendly. 

"You  have  come ?"  murmurs  Mrs.  Montressor 

suggestively. 

"  On  account  of  my  brother,"  remarks  the  girl. 


HER  SENATOR,  243 

'*  He— he  asked  you  to  call  ?  That  is  very  kind," 
returns  Evelyn  extending  her  hand. 

This  the  young  lady  does  not  take,  but  says:  "  No, 
he  did  not  ask  me  to  call.  But  still  I  am  here  on  his 
account."  Then  she  suddenly  falters,  "You — you  are 
the  lady  of  the  portrait.  He  learnt  to  love  your  face 
before  he  saw  you.  And  I — I  induced  him  to  buy  it 
because — because  I  was  a  fool,"  and  Mattie  Guernsey's 
brown  eyes  have  anguish  in  them. 

"I — I  don't  understand  you.  You  have  seen  your 
brother  ?  "  asks  Mrs.  Montressor,  scarce  understanding 
the  other's  emotion. 

''Not  for  a  month.  I  only  arrived  in  Washington 
this  evening,  scarce  half  an  hour  ago.  Jim  is  at  the 
Capitol;  the  Senate  is  in  session  to-night,"  answers 
the  girl  fighting  herself  to  coldness  and  growing  once 
more  haughty. 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"Therefore,  you  will  pardon  my  Western  bluntness 
by  asking  you  to  read  this  newspaper,"  continues  Mat- 
tie  Guernsey,  and  searches  in  her  reticule. 

All  the  time  Evie's  eyes  have  been  devouring  the  girl, 
her  graces,  her  beauties,  from  her  chestnut  hair  and 
hazel  eyes  to  her  exquisite  but  agile  figure,  and  once  or 
twice  as  Mattie  has  made  some  quick  gesture,  Evelyn 
has  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead  as  if  trying 
to  brush  away  something  that  came  into  her  mind. 

"This  paper — oblige  me  by  reading  it,  madame," 
says  the  young  lady  in  austere  coldness,  offering  her  a 
Western  journal. 

"Certainly,"  replies  Mrs.  Montressor, " though  your 
manner  is  curious.  Please  be  seated. "  She  waves  her 
hand  to  a  chair.* 

"  I  prefer  to  remain  standing,  madame.     Read  it .'" 

The  words  are  uttered  in  a  tone  that  Evic  is  unac- 
customed to. 


244  HER  SENATOR. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  remain  standing  if  you  prefer  it.  I 
suppose  that  must  be  Western  manners.  But  I  prefer 
my  comfort,"  sneers  Mrs.  Montressor,  sinking  languid- 
ly into  the  softest  seat  she  can  find,  and  glancing  care- 
lessly at  the  Silvcropolis  Buzzard. 

The  article  that  meets  her  eye  makes  her  start.  It 
is  along  one  which  displays  in  its  head-lines,  in  biggest 
type,  well  leaded,  the  following  pleasant  announce- 
ments: IN  THE  TOILS  OF  THE  SIREN DOC  GUERNSEY'S 

FALL  FROM  GRACE CAPTURED  BY  A  WIDOW'S  ALLURE- 
MENTS— THE  GELATINE  TRUST  COULD  NOT  PHASE  DOC 
GUERNSEY,  BUT  THE  FASCINATING  EVIE  WAS  TOO  MUCH 
FOR  HIS  NIBS. 

This  homily  Evelyn  reads,  line  by  line,  for  all  of  its 
two  columns.  It  suggests  that  Guernsey,  Populoso's 
favorite  son  and  trusted  senator,  has  fallen  victim  in 
Washington  to  the  allurements  of  a  woman  of  unknown 
antecedents,  but  who  is  undoubtedly  an  agent  of  the 
gigantic  monopoly  that  is  engaged  at  present  in  cor- 
rupting the  Senate ;  that  lust  has  conquered  the  young 
political  giant  from  the  West;  and  it  hints  in  no  very 
equivocal  terms  at  the  price  the  beautiful  widow  has 
paid  for  Guernsey's  vote. 

It  is  as  nasty  an  article  as  was  ever  printed  in  an 
American  newspaper.  Each  line  an  insinuation,  a 
slur,  or  a  lie;  every  sentence  of  it  stinging  Evie  more 
sharply  than  if  it  were  a  whip  lashing  her  delicate 
shoulders. 

Even  as  she  reads  she  knows  from  whose  pen  this 
must  have  come,  and  thinks:  "If  I  had  Algeria  Tol- 
stock  in  my  grasp!"  Then  it  suddenly  flies  through 
her:  "  He  must  not  see  it  until  his  vote  is  given." 

So,  putting  the  paper  coolly  in  her  pocket,  Evelyn 
remarks  nonchalantly,  though  her  lips  quiver:  "I  have 
read  the  flattering  article  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to 
bring  me.  Do  you  wish  to  supplement  it  by  any 


HER   SENATOR.  245 

remarks  of  your  own,  Miss  Guernsey?     I  don't  think 
it  will  be  pleasant  reading  for  your  brother." 

"  It  rests  with  you  whether  my  brother  ever  sees  this 
attack  or  not,"  returns  the  young  lady  coldly. 

"With  me?"  When  it  has  been  published  by  the 
thousands!" 

"  Have  you  seen  any  telegraphic  comments  on  it 
from  Silveropolis  ?"  queries  the  girl  suddenly  and  anx- 
iously. 

"No!" 

"  Thank  God !  Then  look !  The  date  of  that  paper  is 
three  days  ago.  Would  not  such  a  scandal  as  this  have 
been  telegraphed  in  full  to  the  Washington  papers,  had 
this  journal  ever  reached  the  public  eye  ? 

"Undoubtedly!"  says  Evelyn,  surprise  upon  herface. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  cries  the  frontier  girl  in  triumph, 
"  you  hold  in  your  hand,  madame,  the  only  copy  extant 

Of  it! — FOR  I  HAVE  SUPPRESSED  THAT  PAPER!" 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I!" 

"How?" 

"How?  By  crushing  the  Silveropolis  Buzzard!  Lis- 
ten to  me,  it  may  be  a  lesson  to  you,"  says  the  girl,  a 
menace  in  her  voice.  "Four  days  ago  Mr.  Barton 
Jordan,  my  brother's  partner,  my  brother's  friend,  my 
— "  she  checks  herself  here,  but  with  blushing  cheeks 
goes  resolutely  on:  "came  to  me  and  told  me  that  that 
blackmailing  sheet  would  the  next  morning  blazon  to 
the  people  of  my  State  the  news  of  my  brother's 
shame.  He  did  not  tell  me  all  its  vile  insinuations. 
He  couldn't  do  that.  No  man  could  tell  a  young  girl 
all  of  that  article,  even  though  she  was  his — "  Miss 
Guernsey  checks  herself  again,  then  utters  meaningly: 
"  But  I  understood.  I  said:  'Bart,  I  will  smash  those 
forms  and  destroy  that  paper  before  the  article  is 
printed.  Tell  me  the  best  way  to  do  it.'  And  he 


246  HER   SENATOR. 

answered,  'I  have  struck  it!  The  sheriff  holds  a  judg- 
ment belonging  to  Joe  Martin  over  the  Buzzard.' 
Then  I  cried,  'We  will  buy  the  judgment  and 
foreclose  on  the  paper !  Joe  Martin  will  sell 
quick  enough.  To-night  we  will  seize  the  Silveropolis 
Buzzard! '  Bart  loves  my  brother  as  well  as  I.  He  did 
it.  Before  a  single  paper  of  its  morning  edition  was 
issued  we  had  possession  of  the  presses,  type,  and  fix- 
tures. I  smashed  those  forms  myself.  With  my  own 
hands  I  destroyed  every  printed  scandal  but  this  one, 
that  I  brought  here  to  show  my  brother  what  was  go- 
ing to  be  said  about  him  if  he  did  not  live  the  life  of  a 
self-respecting  man  and  honest  legislator.  With  that 
paper  in  my  pocket  I  came  here,  two  days  and  nights 
by  railroad,  to  snatch  him  from  destruction  and — and 
you !  Jim  was  engaged  at  the  Senate.  Then  it  sud- 
denly occurred  to  me — for  my  brother  rather  thinks  that 
a  man  should  do  what  he  pleases  in  this  world — that  Jim 
might  be  more  difficult  to  control  than  you.  So  I  said, 
'  I  will  go  to  her,  i  WILL  SUPPRESS  THE  WOMAN!  ' " 

"You  are  evidently  laboring  under  a  mistake  as  to 
the  kind  of  woman  you  have  come  to  suppress,"  replies 
Mrs.  Montressor  sarcastically,  for  the  blood  has  risen 
in  her  face  as  she  has  listened  to  her  arraignment,  and 
the  two  confront  each  other  to  fight  it  out. 

"I  am  laboring  under  no  mistake.  Your  name  is 
mentioned  in  that  article.  I  said,  '  The  woman  may 
have  some  good  in  her;  then  she  will  give  him  up  to 
me,  and  let  our  honest,  noble  Jim  be  once  more  his 
own  true  self.'  Believe  me,  I  appreciate  his  tempta 
tkm  when  I  look  upon  you.  Spare  this  man  that  we 
love  out  West,  take  your  beauty  from  out  his  eyes, 
release  him  from  your  spell ! " 

"You  are  complimentary,"  sneers  Evelyn;  then 
suddenly  she  cries  in  angry  tone:  "Why  do  you  take 
such  an  interest  in  Jim  Guernsey  ? " 


HER   SENATOR.  247 

"Because  I  love  him!"  answers  the  girl  proudly. 

"  Love  him — -you  ?  "  And  for  one  moment  Evie  looks 
as  if  she  would  spring  toward  her,  for  a  new  passion 
is  in  her  soul,  one  that  frightens  her  and  horrifies  her. 
"Jealous  of  Doc  Guernsey!  Jealous!  My  Heaven! 
that  means  love ;  that  means  despair! "  Whatever  she 
does  now  she  does  not  care.  Whichever  way  the  battle 
goes,  she  loses!  If  she  destroys  this  man's  career 
she  loves  him ;  if  she  turns  her  back  on  him,  it  will 
be  with  a  breaking  heart.  Checking  her  hand,  she 
smites  the  girl  with  her  tongue,  muttering:  "You  love 
him !  Not  as  a  sister,  eh,  but  as  a  woman  ? '' 

"  Horrible!"  shudders  Mattie.   "  He  is  my  brother!" 

"Pooh!  he  has  no  blood  of  yours  in  his  veins. 
You  love  him  as  a  woman !" 

"  No,  no;  only  as  the  best,  the  kindest  friend,  who 
has  dandled  me  on  his  knee  when  I  was  a  child, 
who  has  risked  his  life  to  save  mine  half  a  dozen  times 
in  the  perils  of  the  West.  I  love  him,  yes,  I  am  proud 
of  it,  but  as  a  brother!" 

"As  a  woman,  you  love!" 

"  That  is  untrue!"  answers  the  girl,  sternly.  "  My 
love  as  a  woman  is  for  another  man." 

"Aha!  Barton  Jordan,  who  accompanied  you  to 
Washington  ?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?"  I  am  his  promised  wife, 
though  Bart  begged  me  not  to  come  here  to  sully  my- 
self by  seeing  you." 

:<No  further  insult!  You  have  said  sufficient  to 
make  me  hate  you,  to  make  me  crush  you,"  mutters 
Evie,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Crush  me  ?  You  don't  know  me,"  remarks  Miss 
Guernsey,  the  calm  look  of  the  Western  fighter  coming 
in  her  eyes.  Then  she  goes  on  in  that  quiet  voice 
whose  tone  ofttimes  means  death:  "Listen  to  my 
ultimatum,  madame.  Yo"  l«ave  Washington  to-night, 


248  HER    SENATOR. 

and  never  speak  to   my  brother  in  this   life  again!" 

"And — if — not  ?" 

"If  not,  I  shall  remain  here  till  he  returns  to  you. 
Then  I  shall  tell  him  what  I  think  of  you,  and  what  I 
think  of  him !  Besides,  I  will  pay  you  money. " 

At  this  last  insult  Mrs.  Montressor's  eyes  flash  bane- 
fully.  She  cries:  "That  proves  you  didn't  know  me 
when  you  came  here,  but  you  shall  go  away  better 
informed."  And  her  glance  growing  cold,  cruel,  and 
pitiless,  she  continues:  "Listen  to  my  ultimatum! 
You  leave  Washington  within  the  hour,  and  take  your 
fianct  with  you,  my  meddling  chit.  You  say  no  word 
to  your  brother  concerning  this  interview,  or  of  this 
paper  I  have  in  my  pocket." 

"And  if  not?"  returns  the  girl,  coldly,  her  eyes 
answering  the  other's. 

"If  not,  I  shall  tell  Jim  Guernsey  that  you  have 
come  here  to  insult  me." 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  answers  Mattie,  deter- 
minedly. "  Jim  can't  be  angry  with  me  for  doing  my 
duty." 

"  That's  not  all  I  shall  tell  him." 

"No?" 

"I  shall  tell  him  that  Mr.  Barton  Jordan  has  come 
to  Washington  to  put  his  hand  between  Mr.  Guernsey 
and  myself.  That  Mr.  Barton  Jordan  doesn't  think 
the  Senator  from  Populoso  is  able  '  to  run  his  own 
wagon  ' — that's  the  way  you  put  it  out  West,  I  believe. 
That  Mr.  Barton  Jordan  has  brought  you  here  to 
separate  us.  That  Mr.  Barton  Jordan  has  sent  you 
here  to  my  house  to  insult  me  shamefully,  cruelly,  un- 
provokedly,  and  with  malice  aforethought. " 

"  No,  no,  that  is  not  true ! — that  was  my  own  idea!  " 

"Won't  your  brother  believe  it  is  true?  Do  you 
wish  Mr.  Barton  Jordan  and  Mr.  James  Guernsey  to 
meet  after  that?  They  are  both  Western  men,  I  be^ 


HER  SENATOR.  249 

lieve,  and  quick  at  the  trigger,"  jeers  Evie  in  unholy 
glee,  laughing  the  laugh  of  despair. 

To  this  the  girl  cries  out :  "  My  Heaven !  Not  that ! 
Whether  they  fought  or  not,  whether  they  killed  each 
other  or  no,  they  would  never  be  friends  again,  my 
brother  and  the  man  I  love.  Don't  do  that!  Go  from 
here,  I  beg  of  you.  Leave  Washington!  You  have 
done  enough  to  disgrace  us  all !  "  Then  she  again 
makes  Evelyn  shudder,  for  she  goes  on:  "You  want 
money.  That's  what  every  woman  of  your  class  wants. 
I  have  a  private  fortune  of  my  own,  left  me  by  the 
noble  father  of  the  man  you  would  ruin.  I  will  sacri- 
fice it  all  to  save  poor  Jim  from  your  clutches.  It 
is  more  than  you  can  get  from  the  corporation  for 
which  you  [work,  it  will  give  you  enough  to  be  rich. 
Far  from  here,  in  Europe,  you  may  play  the  princess  and 
beguile  other  men  by  your  accursed  beauty." 

But  the  other  interrupts  her  in  snarling  voice:  "The 
noble  father  of  Jim  Guernsey !  You  call  him  that — he 
who  stole  my  birthright  from  me  when  I  was  a  helpless 
child  ?  Overhand  Guernsey,  who  made  me  what  I 
am  ! " 

"Yes,  Overhand  Guernsey ! "  cries  Mattie.  "  He  who 
gave  me  my  birthright  and  made  me  what  I  am.  Look 
at  me!  Behold  me!" 

And  Evelyn,  gazing,  sees  the  acme  of  beautiful, 
fresh  girlhood  glaring  at  her.  "You  see  me?"  says 
the  girl.  "Do  I  seem  the  child  of  a  pauper?  Do  I 
look  as  if  when  an  infant  I  had  been  beaten,  starved? 
I  can  remember,  though  it  was  long  ago,  how,  in  the 
horror  of  an  asylum,  where  they  treated  children  like 
brutes,  where  they  starved  them  until  my  poor  sister 
sold  the  Bible  to  give  me  bread " 

"Sold  the  Bible  to  give  you  bread!"  This  is  a 
scream  of  despair,  astonishment,  rapture 

"Yes,"  answers    Mattie,   "and   from  that  horror 


350  HER   SENATOR. 

the  father  of  this  man  whom  you  would  ruin  came  to 
me  and  took  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  away  from 
the  clutches  of  a  fiend  called  Mawley " 

"Mawley!"  gasps  Evelyn.  "Mawley!"  then 
shrieks:  "Mathilde!  Mathilde  !  " 

"  Mathilde  !  My  name  when  I  was  French  !  "  stam- 
mers the  girl  astounded.  "  Yes,  I  can  just  remember 
— the  name  my  sister  called  me." 

But  she  changes  her  tone  here,  for  a  pair  of  snowy 
arms  are  round  her  neck  and  with  the  strength  of  loath- 
ing Mattie  tears  off  the  grasping  hands  and  smites 
the  woman  who  would  caress  her,  with  these  awful 
words:  "You  vile  thing  !  How  dare  you  pollute  me 
with  your  touch  ?  " 

"  Pollute  you  !  Mathilde,  I  am  your  sister  !  It  was 
I  who  sold  the  Bible  to  keep  you  from  starving. 
Don't  you  remember  ?  Don't  you  remember  Evie, 
Mignonnette  ?  " 

And  the  other  looking  at  her,  as  if  dazed, 
screams:  " Mignonnette !  my  pet  name,  my  French 
name  that  my  sister  called  me  when  we  were  happy 
in  Paris."  Then  opening  her  arms,  whispers,  Soeur 
Cherie  !  " 

And  suddenly  the  white  arms  are  round  her  once 
again  with  mighty  clasp,  and  this  time  they  remain, 
and  Mattie  Guernsey  murmurs:  "  My  sister  !  " 

But  these  words  come  faintly  to  Evie's  ears,  and  the 
two  almost  faint  and  sink  down  together  as  their  lips 
meet  in  sisters'  kiss  for  the  first  time  since  Mawley's 
cruel  hands  had  parted  them. 

And  they  are  as  two  crazy  girls,  each  having  found 
what  she  had  been  seeking  for  in  all  the  world;  and 
they  lie  panting,  breast  to  breast,  lavishing  on  each 
other  the  wild  caresses  of  an  astounded  joy. 

Then  they  get  to  telling  childish  stories  to  each 
other,  saying:  "Do  you  remember  that?"  And  laugh- 


HER  SENATOR.  251 

ing:  "  This  is  how  you  used  to  tickle  me — you  naughty 
one,"  and  Evie  kisses  a  little  mole  on  Mattie's  neck, 
prattling:  " Mignonnette,  I  should  have  known  you  by 
this;  you  remember — sister's  love  spot  !"  and  kisses 
it  again. 

Then  strange  power  of  love,  Mattie  is  sobbing  on 
her  sister's  heart  and  begging  her  to  forgive  her  and 
murmuring:  "I  must  have  been  mad,  wild,  to  have 
doubted  your  noble  eyes.  Your  looks  were  the  same 
when  you  faced  my  lies  as  when  you  shielded  me  from 
cruel  Mawley. "  And  she  rises  up  and  strides  about  in 
righteous  indignation,  crying:  "Ah,  if  I  had  the 
Editor  here  !  That  vile  paper  has  slandered  you,  Saur 
Cherie — as  well  as  him." 

But  this  is  not  so  comforting  as  it  should  be  to  Evie, 
who  sighs:  "The  world  doesn't  love  me  as  you  do, 
Mignonnette. " 

"Aye,  that  it  doesn't,"  cries  Mattie.  "But  now 
Jim  must  know  I  have  found  my  sister  and  be  happy, 
too.  And  if  he  loves  you — oh  !  if  Jim  loves  you,  fancy 
what  that  will  mean  for  me — what  joy,  what  happi- 
ness!" 

And  the  girl  claps  her  hands  and  laughs,  the  merry 
ripples  in  her  young  voice  beating  a  requiem  on  her 
sister's  heart. 

"Yes,  find  him  !  Quick,  to  your  hotel  !  He  will 
doubtless  call  on  you  the  moment  he  knows  you  are 
here,"  cries  Evie  half  crazy  at  the  thoughts  that  run 
through  her  reeling  brain.  "  Don't  stay  here,  find 
Jim  !  " 

And,  though  it  is  difficult,  she  puts  her  sister  away 
with  feverish  impatience,  and  gets  her  to  the  door — 
for  she  must  see  Jim  Guernsey  first,  and  she  knows  too 
well  where  he  will  come  the  moment  he  leaves  the 
Senate. 

But,  even  at  the  entrance,  Mattie  turns,  and,  kiss- 


252  HER    SENATOR. 

ing  her  again,  gives  Evelyn  an  awful  stab.  She  mur- 
murs, with  radiant  eyes:  "To-morrow  morning 
early  shall  I  come  up  here  and  kiss  you,  or  will  you 
come  down  to  the  Arlington  and  kiss  me  ?"  Then,  look- 
ing into  the  lovely  face  that  gazes  upon  and  devours 
her  own,  she  adds:  "  I  believe  Jim  loves  you, — but  not 
the  scandal,  not  the  lies,  dear  sister!" 

So  she  goes  away, leaving  Evie  alone  in  horrid  reverie, 
for  she  is  muttering  to  herself :  ' '  Jim  Guernsey's  father 
was  a  good  man.  He  has  made  my  sister  happy,  pure,  and 
noble ;  he  has  given  her  education  and  a  fortune.  It 
must  have  been  a  dream  that  he  robbed  me  of  my 
birthright.  Now  I  have  no  right  to  break  my  oath  to 
the  son." 

Then  she  starts,  turns  pale,  and  trembles,  for  a 
newsboy  outside  is  crying,  in  the  clear  night  air,  these 
awful  words,  that  smite  her:  ' '  Extree — extra! 
The  gelatine  schedule  passed  by  the  Senate  by  a  majority  of 
ONE  ! 

And  she  cries  out:  "  One!  That  was  my  vote  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  and  what  have  I  paid  for  it!  My 
God !  I  have  won  the  game,  I  have  delivered  '  the 
goods'!"  next  shudders:  "He  will  be  here  for  his 
price,"  and  laughs  a  hideous  laugh.  "How  Mathilde 
will  love  me,  the  mistress  of  the  man  she  calls  her 
brother!" 

Then,  an  indomitable  resolution  coming  over  her,  she 
mutters:  "  I  will  tell  him !  Then  if  he  dares  to  ask, 
I'll  drive  his  infamy  down  his  throat!  "  next,  in  a  plain- 
tive way,  falters:  "He  will  despise  me,  breaking  my 
oath,  refusing  the  bargain  I  have  made." 

And  just  here  a  new  but  despairing  light  comes  into 
her  tortured  eyes,  and  she  cries,  wringing  her  hands  in 
hapless  misery:  "Oh  Jim — my  Jim — now  I  know!  It 
was  love — LOVE  ! — LOVE !  that  cried  out  in  my  heart 
—not  hate!  not  HATE!" 


HER   SENATOR.  253 


CHAPTER  XX. 

i       "YOU  CAN'T  RUIN  A  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR." 

THEN  to  this  woman  waiting  for  this  man  she  knows 
she  loves  and  fears  the  more  because  she  loves  him, 
there  comes  a  step  up  the  stairs — his  step ! 

She  knows  now  that  she  has  listened  for  it  day  by 
day — that's  why  she  recognizes  it,  she  loves  it! 

He  is  coming  for  his  price  and  she  has  sworn  to  pay 
it!  He  has  voted  "aye"  in  the  Senate,  that  she  may 
vote  "aye  "  here  in  this  room  to-night! 

The  front  door  is  opening!  convulsively  she  rises 
from  the  sofa  on  which  she  has  been  sitting  and  makes 
a  step  as  if  to  drive  him  away  before  he  can  plead  with 
her  and  kiss  her. 

But  even  as  he  draws  aside  the  portieres  of  her 
parlor,  Jim  Guernsey's  face  appalls  her.  It  is  not 
that  of  the  man  who  had  left  her;  it  has  a  hangdog, 
sneaky  look  about  the  eyes.  The  honest  gleam  of 
passion,  hungering  passion,  has  left  it.  This  creature 
who  is  coming  in  to  her  looks  as  if  he  were  a  sneak  and 
ashamed  of  it. 

Instead  of  confronting  him,  she  retreats  from  him. 

This  is  but  for  an  instant!  Even  as  he  gazes  at 
her,  Jim  Guernsey's  face  blazes  up,  devouring  the 
beauty  of  this  creature  of  wild  eyes  and  hunted-deer 
expression  that  he  has  bargained  for  and  bought! 

So  they  gaze  at  each  other  like  two  criminals,  nei- 
ther daring  to  look  the  other  in  the  eye. 

Then  she  cries  hoarsely:  "Keep  away!"  for  the 
Senator's  mien  affrights  her. 

At  times  his  eyes  seem  to  light  up  with  longing  pas- 
siOn  and  absorb  her,  then  seek  the  floor.  Though  his 


«54  HER  SENATOR. 

lips  quiver  they  give  forth  no  sound.  Is  the  question  he 
is  going  to  ask  her  so  base  a  one  that  even  this  free  and 
easy  Western  man — who  is  at  best  no  more  refined  than 
his  fellows  of  politics  or  the  clubs — cannot  phrase  it? 

As  this  idea  dashes  through  Evie's  brain,  over  her 
beautiful  face,  neck,  and  arms,  flies  that  torturing 
blush  of  modesty  about  to  be  assailed,  the  one  that  has 
come  to  her  so  often  this  night.  To  her  pale,  mobile 
features  it  adds  the  loveliness  of  diffidence,  the  delicate 
charm  of  rosebud  cheeks,  shy  eyes,  and  exquisite  re- 
treating pose.  Her  shoulders  that  had  been  gleaming 
white  marble  now  shine  like  pink  corals. 

Upon  this  loveliness  Jim  Guernsey  gazes  longingly, 
passionately,  then  his  eyes  sink  before  Evie's  once 
more  in  a  shamefaced  way,  and  he  mutters,  huskily: 
"The  gelatine  schedule  has  passed  the  Senate  by  one." 

"Y-e-s,  I  know,  the  extras  told  me  that,"  she 
sighs,  and  her  cheeks  glow  with  deeper  red;  she 
lays  one  little  hand  upon  her  heart  as  if  to  stay  its  flut- 
tering, and  with  the  other  supports  herself  against  an 
ornamental  table  as  if  his  news  had  struck  her  down, 
for  Doc  Guernsey,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  come 
to  the  Rubicon  and  is  bound  to  pass  it,  closes  the  door 
behind  him  with  a  bang,  and  takes  a  step  toward  her. 

From  him  she  shrinks,  strange  diffidence  in  her  man- 
ner, a  delicious  bashfulness  in  her  attitude. 

Apprehension  is  upon  her.  Before  she  loved  him 
she  did  not  fear  him ;  now,  my  heaven ! — why  does  he 
fear  her  too  ? 

A  nervous  laugh,  that  is  half  mocking,  half  hysteri- 
cal, ripples  her  pale  lips.  Mentally  she  sneers:  "  The 
Sultan  is  not  trembling  before  his  purchased  odalisque. 
Lovelace  is  abashed  in  the  presence  of  Pamela." 

Even  as  these  thoughts  fly  through  her  Guernsey 
mutters:  "By  thunder!  you  shrink  from  me,  Evie! 
You — you  don't  come  here  to  kiss  me  for  my  vote?" 


HER   SENATOR.  255 

"No,  Jim,"  she  murmurs,  "I — I  can't  do  that." 

'•That's  about  what  I  guessed  it  would  be,"  he  says 
moodily,  and  sinks  into  a  chair,  tossing  his  hat  upon 
the  table.  "That's  what  I  feared  when  I  voted  '  No  ' 
in  the  United  States  Senate  to-night.  That's  why  I 
can't  look  you  in  the  face,  I've — I've  busted  my  word 
to  you,  Evie!  " 

"  You  voted  '  No  !'  "  she  gasps,  coming  to  him. 

"Yes!" 

"  Thank  God ! "  And  two  fairy  lips  are  pressed  upon 
his. 

To  her  he  falters:  "Great  gosh!  you're  glad  I  went 
back  on  my  promise  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,  Jim,"  she  cries,  a  glorious  joy  in  her  face, 
"because  now  I  can  go  back  on  my  word  to  you.  I 
can  say  '  NO  '  to  your  question." 

But  a  desperate,  almost  despairing  man  rises  up  to 
her,  and,  taking  her  fair  wrist  in  his  grasp,  turns  her 
to  him  and  says:  "Not  by  the  torture  stake!  You 
shan't  say  NO!" 

"Why  not?"  and  her  eyes  beam  on  him  defiantly 
as  she  laughs:  "  The — the  bill  hasn't  passed." 

"Oh,  yes  it  has!  Some  other  fellows  haven't 
as  big  a  conscience  as  I  have,"  he  mutters.  "But 
Evie!"  Here  the  dominant  power  of  the  man  breaks 
forth  and  carries  her  away  with  him  as  he  goes  on  in 
impetuous  voice :  ' '  Though  I  got  up  to  say  '  aye '  to  the 
vote,  I  couldn't,  darn  me,  I  just  couldn't !  That  infernal 
bust  of  Daniel  Webster  up  there, "  he  points  to  the  bronze 
"got  to  looking  at  me  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  I, 
despite  my  word  to  you,  shouted  '  NO  ! '  so  loud  it  most 
shook  the  Senate  Chamber.  The  galleries  applauded 
me  but  all  I  thought  was :  '  Even  if  this  does  beggar 
my  darling  perhaps  she'll  forgive  me  for  it.  For 
though  I've  broken  my  promise  to  you  and  voted  'no,' 
by  the  Eternal  you  shan't  vote  '  NO  '  to  the  question  I 


756  HER   SEN1TOR. 

ask  you  to-night.  Forgive  me,  pity  me! — I — I  said, 
even  if  Evie  does  lose  her  money  what  does  it  matter  ? 
I  have  enough  for  both !  My  wife !  " 

"Your  wife!  Jim?"  This  is  half  shriek,  half  sob, 
from  the  beautiful  creature  who  trembles  in  his  grasp. 

"  Yes,  my  WIFE!  She'll  be  rich,  she'll  have  all  I  have 
on  earth,  even  my  love.  That's  the  question  I  meant 
to  ask  you  to-night.  And  by  heaven,  you  shan't  say 
'  NO  '  because  that  cursed  bust  of  Daniel  Webster  has 
made  me  do  my  duty  as  a  man  and  a  senator." 

Then,  forgetful  of  gauze  and  laces  and  furbelows, 
Doc  Guernsey  crushes  to  his  big  heart  the  woman  who 
in  her  soul  had  thought  him  base  enough  to  love  her 
but  to  make  her  barter  her  honor  for  his. 

But  with  a  smothered,  self-reproaching  "Jim!  why 
d-d-didn  't  you  speak  before  ?"  there  is  a  fainting  woman  on 
the  big  breast  of  the  Senator  from  Populoso.  Over  her 
he  bends  and  mutters:  "  Wake  up!  wake  up,  sis!  hear 
me  speak  now!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  infernal 
anonymous  letters  I  would  have  SHOUTED  long  ago. 
Evie!  it's  your  big  Jim  talking  to  you.  Evie!  it's  the 
fellow  who  voted  as  you  didn't  want  him  to  that's  talk 
ing  to  you.  Evie!" 

But  he  ceases  speech  and  goes  to  kissing,  for  the 
eyes  have  opened — the  beaming  eyes  of  the  woman  he 
loves :  and  she  is  whispering  to  him ;  ' '  Jim,  forgive  me ! 
I  thought — oh,  Jim!  What  did  I  think?  " 

"  Not  as  bad  as  you  ought  to,  not  as  good  as  I'll  be 
to  you,  please  God,"  mutters  the  Senator,  and  takes  his 
prey  in   his   arms  as   if   she   belonged  to  him — even 
though  he  has  voted  against  the  Gelatine  Trust. 
********** 

One  morning  about  a  week  after  this,  the  Waldorf  is 
in  its  Monday  glory;  the  audience  from  one  of  Mr. 
Bagby 's  concerts,  in  which  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  New 
York  have  just  been  listening  to  the  great  songbirds^ 


HER   SENATOR.  257 

tenors,  and  musical  virtuosos  of  this  world,  is  passing 
out  of  the  ballroom,  some  of  them  going  t6  their  car- 
riages, others  strolling  through  the  magnificent  apart- 
ments of  the  first  floor  en  route  for  the  dining-room, 
where  the  usual  numerous  lunch  parties  that  follow 
these  affairs,  take  place. 

Among  this  crowd  of  beautiful  women,  in  which  gen- 
tlemen are  conspicuous  because  they  are  so  few,  is  Mr. 
Steinbergh.  The  Colossus  of  the  stock  market  has 
stolen  time  from  his  business  affairs,  now  that  the  great 
Gelatine  fight  is  over  and  the  Trust  is  safe,  to  devote 
a  little  of  his  leisure  to  art.  A  songbird,  in  whom  he 
takes  paternal  interest  and  whose  artistic  fortunes  he 
favors,  has  been  giving  out  her  notes  at  great  price  at 
the  concert.  Mr.  Steinbergh  has  sauntered  in  to  help 
her  by  his  presence  and  applause. 

He  looks  carelessly  at  the  beauties  who  are  stepping 
into  their  magnificent  equipages  «t  the  door  and,  after 
lunching  in  the  restaurant  with  one  or  two  gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  is  about  calling  his  car- 
riage to  drive  down  town.  Passing  the  Moorish  room 
he  chances  to  carelessly  glance  into  that  arabesque 
apartment,  gives  a  little  start  and  thinks:  "By  George, 
here's  another  girl-bride.  This  hotel  seems  alive  with 
'em.  At  a  distance  she  is  very  pretty.  I'll  take  a 
nearer  inspection, "  and  strolls  into  the  parlor  of  Turkey- 
red  effects  to  receive  surprise. 

A  beautiful  woman  at  his  approach  rises,  her  eyes 
lighting  up  with  cordial  greeting  as  she  murmurs: 
"Dear  Mr.  Steinbergh,  I  was  just  sitting  down  to  write 
to  you,  to  ask  you  to  drop  in  and  see  us;"  then  she 
smiles,  and  whispers,  archly,  "You've  forgiven  me,  I 
hope,  for  not  delivering  ''the  goods  ? '  " 

"Most  assuredly,"  remarks  the  financier,  "espe- 
cially as  Mr.  Guernsey's  little  speech  upon  statistics 
really  won  the  fight  for  us.  Two  or  three  gentlemen, 


258  HER    SENATOR. 

who  were  on  the  fence,  thought  the  Senator  from  Pop- 
uloso  was  upon  our  side  of  it,  and  promptly  stepped 
over  and  voted  in  the  right  way.  Now,  I  suppose  you'd 
like  my  advice  with  regard  to  your  stock  ?" 

"Very  much,"  says  Evie  affably  and  happily,  be- 
cause Mr.  Steinbergh  had  always  been  kind  to  her  and 
she  has  feared  reproach  from  him  where  she  now 
receives,  in  his  easy  way,  the  thanks  this  gentleman 
can  always  give  so  graciously. 

''Very  well,"  he  whispers,  "keep  your  stock." 

"Why,  it's  already  gone  up  twenty  points,"  she  says 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  it  will  go  up  more!  Its  dividends  will  pay 
you.  Keep  it.  The  bears  in  Wall  Street  may  assail  it, 
but  we're  not  afraid  of  bears.  They  are  our  meat. 
The  only  thing  the  Gelatine  Trust  trembles  at  is  Con- 
gress. " 

Then  his  tranquil  eyes  grow  deep  as  he  suggests : 
"You  wished  to  see  me  on  business — was  this  the 
whole  of  it?" 

"  No,"  she  replies,  "more  important  business  than 
even  the  question  I  have  asked  you.  You  have  a  tele- 
gram in  your  possession  signed  'James  B.  Guernsey  'in 
regard  to  five  thousand  shares  of  Gelatine  stock?" 

"Yes,"  he  answers,  his  eyes  growing  cunning. 

"  Send  it  to  me  by  special  messenger." 

"Ah!  you  wish  to  hold  it  over  the  Senator — you 
imagine  you  can  punish  him  for  not  voting  your  way  ? 
you  v/ish " 

"I  did  wish,"  she  says  impulsively 

"  Not  to  ruin  him  ?  "  he  asks  almost  jeeringly,  then 
continues,  a  curious  twinkle  in  his  eye:  "  Permit  me  to 
tell  you  a  few  little  facts  about  the  United  States 
Senate,  and  one  of  them  is  this:  Nothing  save  the 
failure  of  reelection  ever  ruins  a  United  States 
Senator!" 


HER   SENATOR.  859 

"  No  ?  "  she  says,  astounded.  "  Not  even  if  it  wrrc 
proved " 

"  Nothing  ruins  a  United  States  Senator!  Ta  proof  of 
which,"  remarks  Mr.  Steinbergh,  "permit  me  to  offer 
you  this  newspaper  homily." 

And  he  produces  from  his  pocketbook  that  cele- 
brated article  in  the  New  York  Herald  of  Sunday, 
March  tenth,  1895,  which  has  these  extraordinary  head- 
lines: ''HOW  CONGRESS  DIED! — SIGHTS  AND  SCENES 
OF  DISGUSTING  REVELRY  AMID  THE  MAKERS  OF  OUR 

NATION'S   LAWS! — A    PROLONGED    SATURNALIA! — AND 

PANDEMONIUM  PRESIDED! — COMMITTEE  ROOMS  ARE 
MADE  BARS  AND  DISREPUTABLE  PERSONS  JOIN  WITH 
CONGRESSMEN !  " 

"Read  that,"  he  jeers,  "and  you'll  think  neither 
woman  nor  the  Devil  can  ruin  a  United  States  Sena- 
tor." Then  he  laughs  with  good-natured  sneer:  "And 
so  my  pretty  little  lady,  you  intended  to  ruin  poor  Jim 
Guernsey  ?  " 

"I've — I've  done  worse  than  that!"  returns  Evie, 
laughing. 

"  Worse?" 

"Yes, "she  says  impulsively,  "I've — I'VE  MARRIED 
HIM!" 

"Married  him?"  This  is  a  gasp  of  astonishment 
from  Steinbergh  who  has  received  one  of  the  very 
few  verbal  knock-downs  of  his  career. 

"Yes,  I  am  now  the  Honorable  Mrs.  James  B. 
Guernsey,  of  Populoso.  He  is  my  Senator  now.  We 
were  married  very  early  this  morning  and  are  just 
arrived  from  Washington.  Jim  thought  he  would  fly 
from  the  reporters  but  he  didn't.  They've  got  him  in 
the  caf6  now.  You  can  read  all  about  it  in  the  even- 
ing papers."  Then  she  blushes  sweetly  and  murmurs 
reproachfully:  "Don't  I — I  look  like  a  bride  ?  " 
,  "  Indeed  you  do,"  he  whispers,  his  eyes  emphasizing 


260  HER  SENATOR. 

his  admiration ;  for  Evie  has  thrown  away  all  sugges- 
tion of  widowhood  with  the  new  vows  that  have  passed 
her  lips.  There  is  no  hint  of  second  honeymoon  in  her 
nuptial  toilette.  She  looks  as  much  the  bride  as  any 
maiden  in  orange  blossoms,  white  veil,  and  blushes. 

And,  bending  over  her  fair  hand,  he  thinks:  "  She  is 
even  a  more  brilliant  woman  than  I  thought  her.  I 
imagined  she  only  wanted  his  vote.  Egad !  she  has 
captured  all  his  votes !  "  Then  he  adds  very  earnestly: 
"  Remember  what  I  told  you  about  the  Gelatine  stock. 
Keep  it  as  you  would  a  household  god." 

Here  she  astounds  him,  for  she  whispers:  "No,  I 
shall  sell  it  as  a  household  devil !  It  would  be  a  stand- 
ing bribe  to  me.  Jim's  got  five  years  more.  I  have 
already  ordered  it  sold.  With  the  hundred  thousand 
dollars  profit  I'm  going  to  endow  the  Home  for  Moth- 
erless Children  founded  in  Silveropolis  by  Jim's  noble 
father.  After  this  my  husband  votes  for  his  honor — 
which  shall  be  my  glory.  For  you  know,"  here  she 
stammers  and  grows  red  with  bride's  blushes,  and  taps 
with  her  parasol  her  pretty  foot  that  is  peeping  from 
beneath  her  satin  skirts,  "I — I  love  Jim!  " 

"I see  you  do,"  falters  the  financier.  Then  he  says 
in  broken  voice:  "Jim  Guernsey's  the  luckiest  man 
upon  this  earth ! " 

"Then  stop  and  congratulate  him,"  she  suggests, 
eagerly.  "  Congratulate  us  both,  dear  Mr.  Steinbergh. 
•  Come  up  and  have  dinner  with  us  and  see  how  happy 
we  are.  You've  always  been  very  good  to  me." 

"Yes,  we're — we're  old  friends,"  falters  the  man  of 
Wall  Street.  "  But  I — I  won't  intrude  upon  the  first 
honeymoon  dinner." 

Once  more  bending  over  her  fair  hand,  he  kisses 
it  sadly  and  goes  away ;  for  Steinbergh,  great  as  he  is 
at  finance,  and  potent  as  he  is  among  the  bankers, 
brokers,  and  money-changers  of  this  world,  has  that 


HER    SENATOR.  261 

not  uncommon  feebleness  of  manhood.  He  always 
values  most  the  woman  he  has  lost. 

But  notwithstanding  the  financier's  regrets,  and  three 
or  four  long  sighs  given  in  the  course  of  a  business  day, 
he  finds  time  to  send  to  the  Honorable  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
James  B.  Guernsey  one  of  the  handsomest  wedding 
presents  that  has  ever  been  received  in  New  York,  and 
that  means  a  good  deal. 

For  Mr.  Steinbergh,  as  he  has  driven  down  to  Wall 
Street,  has  communed  to  himself  in  this  way:  "God 
bless  her,  I'm  glad  I  gave  dear  little  Evie  a  push  along 
in  life.  And  now  dear  little  Evie  will  give  the  Honor- 
able Jim  several  pushes  in  his  career.  There's  no  tell- 
ing what  such  a  woman  may  do.  Great  discounts !  she 
may  some  day  make  '  Her  Senator '  into  '  OUR  PRESI- 
DENT!'" 


FINIS. 


The  SPY  COMPANY 

A     Tale    of    rbe    Mexican     War 
By  ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 


"A  stirring  tale  of  love  and  fighting,  quite  in  Mr.   Gunter'i 

minner. " — Nnu  York  American,  January  31,  1903. 

"A  worthy  successor  to  '  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,'  and  «  Mr. 
of  Texas." — The  North  Amirican,  Phila.,  Pa.,  February  15,  1903. 

"A  tale  of  stirring  incidents  and  ingenious  plot  ....  A  novel  in 
which  there  is  no*  one  dull  moment." — Tbt  Literary  tfewt,"  New  Yark, 
March,  1903. 

"  No  chapter  In  the  history  of  these  United  States  is  more  picturesque  and 
romantic  than  that  which  relates  to  the  acquisition  of  Texas.  In  the  'forties,* 
when  Texas  was  in  a  transition  state,  held  by  Mexico,  claiming  to  be  an  inde- 
pendent nation  and  drifting  into  the  possession  of  the  United  States,  all  at  the 
same  time,  the  local  situation  was  as  complicated  as  the  most  imaginative  n<nei~ 
iit  could  desire,  and  this  involved  state  of  affairs  was  cleared  up  by  the  Mexican 
War,  just  in  the  right  way  to  afford  a  strong  climax.  Full  advantage  of  these 
attractive  elements  has  been  taken  by  Archibald  Clavering  Gunter,  author  of 
'  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,'  in  his  latest  work,  «  The  Spy  Company." 

—Evening  Telegraph,  Philadelphia,  January  31,  1903. 


Very  handsomely  illustrated.     Frontispiece  in  colors 
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A  Lost  American 

AN  EXCITING  TALE  OF  CUBA 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 


AUTHOR   OF 


"  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York, "  "  The  King's  Stock- 
broker," etc.,  etc. 

"  The  plot  of  Mr.  Gunter's  latest  novel  is  laid 
in  Cuba,  during  the  ten  years'  war.  The 
scenes  and  incidents  of  the  story  gives  ad- 
ditional interest  in  view  of  the  late  conflict,  and 
much  capital  is  made  out  of  our  instinctive 
horror  of  Spanish  methods  of  warfare.  The 
hero  of  the  story  is  an  American,  imprisoned 
without  trial,  in  a  Cuban  dungeon  and  sentenced 
to  be  shot.  .  .  .  Once  started  we  find  no 
breathing  space  until  Howard  has  happily 
married  his  lady  love." — The  Amherst  Literary 
Monthly. 

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A  PRINCESS  OF  PARIS 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 


*'  This  story  is  one  of  Mr.  Gunter's  best,  and  those  who 
have  read  'Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York'  and  'Mr.  Potter  of 
Texas 'know  the  full  meaning  of  this  statement." — Loyal Amer- 
icant  Minneapolis. 

'''The  Princess  of  Paris '  is  decidedly  the  best  thing  that 
Mr  Gunter  has  done  in  way  of  giving  him  a  distinctive  place 
among  authors  of  to-day.  It  introduces  a  good  deal  of  history 
connected  with  the  reign  of  Louis  Phillipe,  the  great  Louisiana 
bubble,  and  the  beginnings  of  modern  banking  methods,  one 
of  the  most  interesting  epochs  in  the  history  of  France.  This 
adds  to  the  charm  and  value  of  the  book.  Altogether,  '  The 
Princess  of  Paris'  reminds  one  strongly  of  the  writings  of  the 
great  master  of  romance — Dumas,  the  elder — and  in  point  of 
interest  it  is  exceeded  by  nothing  which  the  renowned  French- 
man ever  wrote." — Rochester  Courier. 

Cloth,  $1.50         .         .         Paper,  50  Cents 


THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER 

THE  SEQUEL  TO 

A    PRINCESS    OF    PARIS 

"  Full  of  exciting  incident  and  dramatic  situations." — New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"  The  work  is  clean,  wonderfully  well  written  and  an  ex« 
Jeedingly  dramatic  bit  of  literature." — Forte  Wayne  News. 

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For  sale  by  aH  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  «o  receipt  of 
price,  by 

NEW  YORK 

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PUBLISHERS 


Lately  "Published 


PHIL  CONWAY 

'By 

Archibald  Clavering  Gunter 

THIS   extraordinary  story    of   how   a  trip    to    Central 
America   nearly  ruined  the  happiness  of  one   of  New 
York's  great  speculators  and  financiers  equals  in  interest 
the  famous  novel  **MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK,"  by  the  same 
author,  and  consequently  will  have  the  same  unprecedented 
number  of  readers. 

The  following  partial  list  of  chapters  will  convey  in  part, 
th«  scope  and  interest  of  this  most  dramatic  novel : 

\M  A  BACHELOR'S  APARTMENT  HOUSE 

THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  PARROT'S  CAGE 
THE  BROKEN  SCISSORS 

THE  LADY  AT  THE  HOTEL  WINDOW 
/MB  WIFI  OF  THE  REFUGEE 

THE  TELEGRAM  SENT  FROM  COBAN 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  FUGITIVE 

ON  THE  DECK  OF  THE  NEW  ORLEANS  BOAT 
THI  LITTLE  FLAT  IN  FIFTY-EIGHTH  STREET 

A  TfeTE-A-TfiTE  MULEBACK  RlDE 

His  MAGNIFICENT  ENEMY 

THE  OPEN  TELEPHONE 
A  L*DY  VISITS  THE  BACHELOR'S  FLAT 
THE  FAIRY  BRIDAL  GIFT 

"BEFORE  THE  ALTAR  I  BURY  MY  FATHER'S  WRONGS" 

"HER  LIFE  FIRST,  HER  LOVE  AFTERWARDS" 

THE  SURPRISES  OF  A  NIGHT 

Clolh.  £I.5O  "Paper,  SO  cents 

Ftr  salt  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  bf 

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PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


What  some  of  America  s 
ablest   Critics  say  of 

JACK  CURZON 

•By 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

r 

"We  find  a  itory  of  great  vivacity  in  A.  C.  Canter'*  'Jack  Curzon. '  "—  N.  r.  Sun. 

"Is  full  of  d  uh  and  abounds  with  dramatic  incident."— AW;  Havtn  Mtrnlng 
Knot. 

"The  book  has  lot*  of  humor  in  it,  if  intensely  interesting,  and  will  certalriy 
meet  with  universal  favor."— Dafy  >arn«/,  Phillipsburg,  Pa, 

"Gunter  is  certainly  the  novelist  of  the  day,  who  comes  nearest  to  Alexander 
Dumas,  and  to  our  taste  he  surpasses  the  Frenchman.  If  you  doubt  this,  throw  aside 
jour  encyclopedia  and  history,  and  study  the  Filipino  question,  with  Jack  Curzon  as 
your  guide  and  entertainer."— Tht  Pnts-Knichrtteler,  Albany,  N.  T. 

"Jack  Curzon  will  be  received  with  pleasure  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Gnnter  has  all  the  faculties  of  a  successful  novelist.  He  is  a  graceful,  forceful,  pun- 
gent writer  as  occasion  requires.  He  is  a  shrewd  analyzer  of  chara&er,  and  an  excellent 
weaver  of  plots  in  which  there  is  a  warp  and  woof  of  amusing  and  thrilling  incident." 
— Oakland  frltunt. 

"Romance  lurks  in  every  corner  of  the  story,  and  is  guided  with  the  special  akife 
for  which  Mr.  Gunter  has  already  acquired  a  reputation.  The  tropical  nature  of  the 
surroundings  of  Manila  are  painted  with  spirited  color,  and  the  author's  knowledge  of 
prevailing  Spat.  ,k  conditions  is  strongly  handled.  The  story  is  throughout  one  of  ver- 
satile Incident,  so  glowingly  touched  with  reality  that  the  clinching  argument  of  the 
scenes  so  nearly  simultaneously  with  the  American  vidory  at  Manila  bring  "Jack  Cur- 
zon" forward  as  one  of  the  most  absorbing  novels  of  the  season  ...  Mr.  Guntet 
could  not  well  have  written  a  novel  that  would  win  more  unanimous  interest.  It  is 
equipped  with  every  possible  factor  to  hold  human  attention,  and  is  moreover  peM- 
trated  by  peculiar  mental  virility  and  color." — Btittn  Idiai. 

Cloth,  $1.50  Paper,  50  Cents 

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"  Small  Boys 

in  Big  Boots/' 

A  Story  for  Children  of  All  Ages. 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 


AUTHOR    OK 


"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  "Mr.  Potter  of  Texas,* 
"That  Frenchman ! "  etc. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 

"It  is  novel,  vigorous  and  never  dull.    It  is  written 
especially  for  children,  but  plenty  of  grown-up  people 
will  find  themselves  capable  of  being  entertained  by  it." 
— New  York  Sun,  Oct.  nth,  1890. 

"  His  boys  and  girls  are  real  flesh  and  blood  crea- 
tions. Mr.  Gunter's  book  cannot  fail  to  be  popular 
with  the  children,  and  it  bids  fair  to  be  equally  liked 
by  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the  children. " 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle ',  Sept.  yth,  1890. 

"It  overflows  with  humor,  and  is  the  best  juvenile 
story  book  of  the  season.    Every  boy  and  girl  in  Amer- 
ica will  want  to  read  this  clever  work  by  Mr.  Gunter. " 
— Davenport  Democrat,  Sept.  joth,  1890. 


Magnificently  bound  and  beautifully  illustrated  by  celebrated 

artists,  it  will  be  found  one  of  the  most  entertaining 

as  well  as  elegant 

GIFT  BOOKS  OF  THE  SEASON. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers, 


A  Novel  of  Startling  Interest 

in  the  complications  which  have  lately  arisen  in    the 
Far  East  between 

RUSSIA  AND  JAPAN 

"  "Tang'led  Flag's" 

By  ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

The  hero  of  the  story  is  a  Japanese  officer  educated 
at  West  Point  and  purchasing  artillery  for  Us  govern- 
ment from  an  American  Connecticut  arms  manufactory. 
His  views  on  Russian  aggression  are  typical  of  the  ideas 
of  his  country. 

No  novel  in  recent  years  has  had  a  larger  salt 

"A  rattling  romance."—  New  York  Herald. 

"Mr.  Gunter  will  retain  his  public  as  long  as  he  turns  out  such  kocrtu  M 
'Tangled  Flags.'  "—New  York  Ma'!  and  Ex  f  rest. 

"  'Tangled  Flags'  is  a  book  well  worthy  to  begin  the  literature  or  the  new 
Century.  Osuri  Katsuma  stands  forth  as  strongly  as  any  of  Dumas's  heroes." 
— The  Literary  News. 

"While  the  flags  of  the  nations  are  becoming  entangled  in  Peking,  it  it 
small  wonder  that  these  people,  so  diverse  in  character  and  training  and  purpose, 
should  entangle  their  fortunes  and  affairs.  But  few  living  novelists  have  the 
genius  and  the  personal  acquaintance  with  the  scenes  and  events  that  will  help 
to  weave  them  into  such  a  satisfactory  romance  as  'Tangled  Flags.'  **—- 
Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 


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Mr.  Potter 

of  Texas. 

AMERICAN  EDITION, 


ENGLISH    EDITION, 


"The  description  of  the  Bom- 
bardment of  Alexandria,  in  <Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas/  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  stirring  picture  painted  by 
the  pen  of  any  write:  in  several 
generations" 


BOB  COVINGTON 

A  NOVEL 

£| 

BY 

Archibald  Clavering  Guntcr 

"Of  intense  interest."—^.  Louis  Star. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  line  between  the  covers." 

— St.  Louis  Post-Despatch? 

F- 

"  Better  than  .,<  MrTlBarnes:  of 

New  York.'" 

IT  — London  Timts.\ 


Cloth,  $1.50  Paper,  50  Cents 

j 

f-  :  -i 

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price  by)       V 

Hurst  &  Company 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


ANOTHER  GREAT  SUCCESS 

Miss  Nobody 

of  Nowhere 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  C.  GUNTER 


"Full    of  incident     and     excitement." — New     York 
Herald. 

"The  popularity  of  Mr.  Gunter  will   now  be  greatei 
than  ever." — Tacoma  Globe. 

*'A  story  that  will  keep  a  man  away  from  his 

meals." — Omaha  Bee. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  volume." 

— Daily  Chronicle,  London,  Jan.  14,  1891. 

"Gunter  scores  another  success." 

— Morning  Advertiser^  London,  Dec.  16,1890. 

"Well  worth  reading." 

— Galignani,  Paris,  Nov.  24,  1890. 

«*Nothing  could  exceed  its  thrilling  interest." 

— Glasgow  Herald,  Dec.  25,  1890. 

"Gunter's  latest  remarkable  story  will  not  disappoint 
his  numerous  admirers." 

Chronicle,  Dec.  4,  1 890. 


University  of  California 

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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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